


And Fastened With a Bow

by Spiderlily_Writes



Series: Tailor-made for each other [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Body Worship, Controlling Parent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, I will add more tags as they become relevant, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Modern AU, Strap-Ons, Verbal Abuse, based on art, irresponsible use of a study, plot with some definite smutty bits, very romantic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:08:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25275181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiderlily_Writes/pseuds/Spiderlily_Writes
Summary: Hilda has a lot of love to give to the pretty young woman who swept into her life with a torn dress and a half-torn heart. Marianne is more than happy to accept.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Series: Tailor-made for each other [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1830265
Comments: 106
Kudos: 214





	1. The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of "Lovingly Stitched Together" (which was inspired by [this fanart](https://twitter.com/mamirato/status/1276579904067338242?s=20)). This work itself is ALSO inspired by [art](https://twitter.com/mamirato/status/1282012903315570688?s=20), which is a continuation of the art on which the first story was based. That was very confusing to try to phrase and I apologize. Please go give @mamirato some love for drawing absolutely amazing and beautiful fanart that continues to inspire me to write adorable stories.

_Ding!_

Marianne wakes up to the sound of her phone going off on the nightstand next to her, and she flounders, groggily, rustling the sheets, trying to find it without opening her eyes. Her hand slaps around ineffectually for long enough that she notices something’s out of place. The nightstand feels different somehow. Come to think of it, so do the sheets. And the pillows. And the-

Her train of thought derails as hand meets phone, and she grabs it, pulling her prize close enough for her to lift her head and squint at the lit screen. It’s almost eleven thirty in the morning, and she’s still sleepy enough that it takes her three tries to complete the pattern on the lock screen and open her messages to see what set it off.

_Goneril Shop Girl :)  
_ _Downloading Video Attachment_

“A... v-video?” Marianne mumbles to herself as she waits impatiently for the download to finish. It does, and she’s greeted with a still of Hilda’s smiling, sunshiney face. She looks absolutely _radiant_ and Marianne swears her phone gets even brighter just for having Hilda on it. Marianne can’t help but smile back at Hilda’s frozen image. She clicks the ‘play’ button.

“Good morning, Mari!” Hilda says, throwing up a peace sign and beaming even wider. The use of the nickname makes Marianne feel butterflies fluttering deep in the pit of her stomach, and she sits bolt-upright in bed, paying much closer attention. The video continues. “Sorry I had to leave so early for work,” Hilda apologizes, “ _especially_ after last night.” 

Marianne feels color rise in her cheeks, and her hand flies reflexively to the side of her neck. _That’s right_ , she thinks to herself, _last night._ It feels like so long ago, almost like a dream -at least until her hand collides with the smattering of hickeys that she’d forgotten Hilda left there, and she hisses in pain. 

She vaguely remembers leaving a couple on Hilda as well, which probably explains the cute, trendy, but notably high collared top Hilda’s wearing. She tries not to think too hard about the window in the front that exposes too much cleavage to be entirely proper. Marianne’s eyes flick away from the phone, even though she knows that it’s a video, and Hilda can’t actually see her staring.

Suddenly, with a start, Marianne realizes what feels so strange about her bedroom.

It isn’t her bedroom.

The lights are off, but there’s enough light coming in from the window for Marianne to take in her surroundings. The room itself is decently tidy, though definitely lived in, and she can smell the faint aroma of Hilda’s rose petal perfume. The bed is large, and plush, and cozy, a four-poster with gossamer pink curtains that are currently pinned up, and she feels as though she really doesn’t ever want to get out of it. The decorations are tasteful, but from what she can see, and from what she knows of Hilda, they definitely match her personality. 

There’s a healthy collection of stuffed animals that have been pushed to the floor, probably to make room for her, she realizes. She also sees a little vanity in the corner with a stool under it, somewhat askew, a set of dressers with a pile of trinkets and jewelry atop them, and the walls are painted a soft pastel pink a few shades brighter than Hilda’s hair. That makes Marianne giggle to herself, she certainly can see a theme. But had Hilda really managed to get up and get ready for work without waking Marianne up? She must have slept like a rock. 

She also sees her ballgown and Hilda’s, both in piles on the floor of the bedroom. Marianne gasps and pulls the blanket up tighter in front of herself. Did they really…?

Looking down, she sees that she's still wearing panties, which is good, even if she's not sure whether they're hers or not, and a tank top that she had definitely not been wearing under her ballgown. She figures it probably belongs to Hilda as well.

“Um, I’d like to see you again,” Hilda carries on from her phone, and Marianne’s eyes snap back to it. She sees Hilda tilt her head to the side, as if she’s considering what to say next, then she bites her lip and pokes her cheek, and Marianne can _swear_ she sees a little blush on Hilda’s face, too. “I _really_ like you. A lot.” The ‘really’ is drawn out for emphasis, and those butterflies in her stomach beat their wings even faster. Hilda...really likes her? A lot? They’ve known each other for less than twenty-four hours; that should be a little intense, right? She finds herself not only flattered, but agreeing, though. She feels the same.

“So, anyways, give me a call when you- Oh! A customer!” Hilda is interrupted by the ringing of the little bell above the door to her shop, and the video ends abruptly on a shot of Hilda looking off to the side. Marianne can’t help but take a second to admire Hilda in profile, her jawline, the way her bubblegum pink hair flows down her back and over her shoulder, her immaculately done makeup, and the adorable little bow in her hair.

She looks at Hilda’s eyes, sees those beautiful, long lashes, and can’t help but remember the way she was looking at Marianne last night, through those eyes, half-lidded with desire, her cheeks flushed with need, crawling up the bed. The same bed Marianne’s still laying in. She shivers in delight, almost dropping the phone.

Marianne looks back at it, and thinks for a second, then realizes there’s only one thing in the whole world she wants right now, and that’s to hear that voice again. She wants to hear those affirmations, straight from Hilda’s mouth, as many times as it takes to pound the words directly into her soul. She pokes the ‘replay’ button on the video, and as Hilda once again says “Good morning, Mari!” she feels her heart swell. 

She watches the video three more times, eyes glued to the screen, unable to put it down, before she manages to take a deep breath. It wouldn’t do to keep Hilda waiting any longer than she already has. Marianne feels rude enough, still being in bed when it’s almost noon.

 _hilda...aren’t you supposed to be working...?_ she types. Marianne certainly doesn’t want Hilda to get in any trouble on her behalf. Heaven knew she’d been good enough to her already. She takes a deep breath and presses ‘send’.

There’s nothing, at first. Marianne worries, turning it over so she doesn’t have to look at the screen. What if Hilda’s mad at her? What if she expected Marianne to be up by now? To send her a video back, looking just as perfectly coiffed? What if she thinks Marianne is lazy, a slouch, a layabout, or worse, a nag, for telling her she should be working? She feels herself beginning to get worked up and barely restrains the desire to pitch her phone across the room so she doesn’t have to look at it and wait, and wonder whether or not Hilda will even text her back. If she can’t see it, she doesn’t know she’s not been responded to, right?

Then, two minutes after she sends the message, her phone pings again. With her heart pounding, she flips her phone back over and unlocks it to see another message.

_Goneril Shop Girl :)  
_ _Yeah, but I missed you so so so soooo much!!!! <3 I wanna see you ASAP!!_

Marianne lets out a little whimper and clamps a hand over her mouth. She’s so cute even over text! How does she do that? The idea of someone missing her, especially someone she has known for such a short time, is absolute madness as far as she’s concerned. Before she can think of a good response, her phone goes off again, and her attention is drawn back to the screen as surely as if it had reached up and smacked her.

_Goneril Shop Girl :)  
_ _Here’s a little incentive… ;) ;) ;)_

_Goneril Shop Girl :)  
_ _Downloading Image Attachment_

She swallows. An image? What kind of image? Before it can load, she slaps her phone facedown on the bed and looks away from it, as though that’ll stop it from coming before she’s ready. It doesn’t. Her phone pings again.

Marianne takes a deep breath, then another. Okay. Whatever this is, she can handle it. She’s pretty sure she definitely had sex with Hilda last night.

Picking up the phone and unlocking it again, she sees that the image has downloaded, and she gasps.

It’s a picture of Hilda, of course. She’s standing in the back of her store, maybe in the changing room? That would make the most sense. She isn’t looking directly at the camera, her head is turned to the side, giving Marianne another chance to take in that gorgeous profile, including a particularly coquettish grin. 

She only takes in the profile for a second, though, because Hilda has used the hand not holding her phone to tug down on the front of that trendy top she’s wearing, giving Marianne a full and unobstructed view of her bust..

Suddenly, she feels very thankful that she’s alone, as the heat flooding her face would certainly be visible to anyone in the same room as her. Heat floods elsewhere, too, but she tries very hard to ignore it.

Marianne stares, feels goosebumps rise on her skin with an electric tingling, feels her mouth literally begin to water as she thinks about what they had done the night before, and she realizes she wants nothing more than to do it all again. But first, she has to respond. How does one even respond to that? She’s never received dirty pictures from anyone, even Leonie hadn’t ever sent her any.

 _well, as incentives go, i think that’s a very good one_ , she types, and sends the message.

As she waits for a reply, she presses the ‘home’ button so that she can check up on social media, now that she’s feeling awake enough to do so properly. When she looks at the ‘phone’ app, though, it’s enough to make her blood run cold. Thirteen missed calls. She doesn’t have to open the app to know they’re from her father.

Anxiety sets in, almost turning to panic. Of course. He would have sent the car for Marianne at the end of the party last night, but the driver would have come up completely empty-handed, and she’d told _nobody_ where she was going. That was stupid enough on its own, honestly, but she’s significantly more concerned about what on _earth_ she is going to tell her father when she gets home. What can she even say? ‘I’m sorry father, but I had the girl from the tailor show up as my plus one, and we got carried away, she brought me home and…’ 

No, absolutely not. She’ll just have to come up with a convincing cover story. Just as she’s mulling this over, her phone pings yet again. It’s Hilda.

_Goneril Shop Girl :)  
_ _If you’re still in my apartment when I get home today, you’ll get a loooooot more than just a picture!! <3_

Well. Hilda makes a very good case for remaining where she is and never, ever leaving, but she knows she’s going to have to confront her father eventually. For now, she elects to send him a text message. She knows he doesn’t like to send them, but he does read them.

_Hello, Father. I am so very sorry I did not come home last night. I was feeling faint at Leonie’s party and was given a room to lie down in. I must have fallen asleep._

He replies almost immediately, and it’s very clearly angry, but it’s the best answer she could hope for.

_Father  
_ _Not happy. On your own for ride home. Driver & I busy. Will talk at dinner._

She knows that not sending the driver is supposed to be a punishment, making her work for a ride home, but it also means that he’s not going to find out she isn’t actually at Leonie’s. Marianne sighs in relief, and replies to Hilda.

_what time might that be, that you’ll be home?_

Marianne waits, biting her lip, nervous.

_Goneril Shop Girl :)  
_ _Short day today!! I should be there by two. In the meantime, you can feel free to help yourself to anything in the pantry or fridge. I wish I coulda made you breakfast. We’ll do that next time, yeah? I for one plan on there being maaaaaany next times ;) <3_

She lays back on the bed, takes a deep breath, and thinks about last night, trying to figure out how exactly she managed to get here.


	2. The Night Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the night of the engagement party, and Marianne would rather be anywhere but here, doing anything but this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy y'all! I absolutely AGONIZED over this chapter, trying to get it just right. I had initially been planning to make the night of the party all be one chapter, but that's not gonna happen, so here's the first half of it.

Marianne feels a million pairs of eyes on her as she waits by the gate to Leonie’s manor for Hilda to arrive, and she tries unsuccessfully to banish the anxiety that has settled in her stomach to claw away at her like some ravening beast. Logically, she knows the other guests have much more important things to do than stare at her. She knows she’s not the center of attention tonight. It’s about Leonie, and her new fiance, and about her father, and his business’s growth and prosperity. It’s not about her. It never really is, unless the conversation is about someone needing to be blamed. That’s okay though; she’s gotten used to it over time. Her life has been one long string of people deciding that the lowest common denominator was Marianne Edmund.

She looks up at the venerable, elegant, lavish manor sitting atop the hill and heaves a weary sigh. Even Leonie, the person she’s ostensibly here to see and to wish well, decided a scant six months ago that something had to go, and that something was Marianne. Upon consideration, she can only think of one person she’s encountered in a very long time who hasn’t treated her like a frustrating, clumsy burden that they’d been saddled with against their will.

She’s so thankful for Hilda, truly. Marianne isn’t one hundred percent sure what to make of the bubbly pink-haired seamstress, but she knows there was _something_ between the two of them at the tailor’s earlier that day. She knows that Hilda, breathless, had asked if she had a date, and she knows that she would rather not face the daunting prospect of Leonie’s engagement party on her own, and she most certainly knows that when she felt Hilda’s hand on her bare back while her dress was being measured, it set white-hot fire to every nerve ending on her body. It was intriguing, to say the least.

Marianne is startled from her musing by a gentle hand landing on her shoulder. She tenses and barely manages to keep herself from crying out in surprise, but when she turns her head and sees Hilda’s hot-pink nails at the end of that hand, she’s glad she didn’t.

She turns the rest of the way around to see Hilda standing behind her, and she’s stunned as she takes in the sight of her new friend in a long, pink, floral-accented ball gown that looks as though it was made from the ground up specifically for her. The way the bodice fits her torso, and the way her skirts flare, and even the little ruffles on her arms are all absolutely perfect. Her hair is unbound, and it cascades down her back in a lovely pink waterfall, and Marianne thinks Hilda looks like a princess, one who stepped straight from some fairytale to whisk her away to safety.

“Hey, Marianne, are you okay? You were just kind of...standing there, zoning out. Are you gonna be able to handle this tonight? Because we can totally go hop in my car and grab milkshakes in our fancy ass dresses. No shame,” Hilda insists, her tone reassuring, kind, and firm. “I don’t think anyone would blame you for ditching.” Her words help to ground Marianne, and they shake her out of her preoccupation with how beautiful Hilda looks tonight.

“My father would. He’d know, and it would end...poorly. I need to do this,” Marianne says, resolute. Then she hesitates. “But thank you. I appreciate the offer, and I appreciate you being here. You really don’t have to be. This isn’t your problem.”

The last thing Marianne wants is to frustrate or annoy the one friend she’s managed to make in ages who doesn’t act like they’re doing her a favor by being around her. Hilda snorts derisively. “My problem or not,” she says, “I’ve made up my mind, and you can ask my brother if you think literally anyone has ever been able to talk me out of anything.”

That’s enough to make Marianne smile. Hilda seems to be particularly adept at that. They begin the long, plodding walk up the drive together, Marianne holding her invitation delicately in one hand and looking curiously at her partner. “You never did tell me why you wanted to come,” she notes, as they begin to hear soft strains of classical music floating down from the open doors of the manor. Hilda opens her mouth as though she’s going to speak, then closes it, chewing on her lip for a moment. She tries again.

“Honestly? Because this is a shitty situation and you deserve better than having to deal with it alone. You’re clearly a nice person, and this sucks.”

“Ah,” says Marianne. “I see. Is that all, then?”

Hilda coughs and looks away, as though she’s afraid to meet Marianne’s eye. “Also, you’re pretty and I wanted to spend more time with you. Two birds, one stone, you know?”

Marianne flushes, suddenly grateful Hilda isn’t watching her. “Flatterer,” she mumbles, almost inaudibly, but she sees the corner of Hilda’s mouth quirk up in the tiniest, most barely perceptible grin.

Their shoes click against the pavement, almost in time, as they advance toward the door. Marianne tries to take a moment to breathe, to re-center herself. She needs to be trying her very best tonight, trying to balance her own lingering feelings about Leonie against whatever it is that’s sparked between her and Hilda.

In the end, it’s Hilda that breaks the silence. 

“So, what’s with this house, anyways?” she asks. “I can’t see you dating some hoity-toity rich person with a big enough mansion to have a _literal ballroom_ inside it. That’s a little much, right? Am I the crazy one here?” Marianne stifles another laugh before answering.

“I didn’t date a ‘hoity-toity rich person’,” she says, trying her best to imitate Hilda’s tone, and Hilda smiles when she does. “Leonie’s family doesn’t own the house. Lorenz’s does.”

“Wait a minute, Lorenz Gloucester?” Marianne nods. “Your ex is engaged to _that_ nerd?” Hilda asks, stopping in her tracks and grimacing at the house. “Really? Yeesh. Talk about trading down.”

Marianne, stopping beside her, has to keep herself from gaping openly at Hilda’s candid impropriety and unabashed flirtatiousness. It’s strange, but after she recovers from the shock of it, she realizes that Hilda’s banter has all but banished the roiling knot of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. Something about Hilda’s presence, just her being near, makes Marianne feel like it’s possible she can get through the night, and she’s suddenly grateful beyond words that she invited her along. She feels her heart pounding, and it has little to do with anxiety.

“A-anyways,” she begins, continuing to walk, “you know Lorenz? That’s certainly a coincidence.” Marianne pointedly ignores the comment about trading down. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think Hilda was trying to fluster her on purpose.

“Not personally, but by reputation. My brother Holst knows the guy, says he’s a weird, squirrelly kind of dude. Pretty, wealthy, but eminently punchable.” Hilda shrugs as they reach the door. There’s an actual, honest to goodness doorman, and Marianne can’t help but feel as though they’re a little out of their depth.

She passes him the invitation. He takes it, reads it, and cocks an eyebrow at Hilda. 

“She's your plus one?” he asks, and when Marianne nods, he waves them through.

They pass through the front doors and the scents of a dozen perfumes wash over them both, and it’s almost enough to make Marianne cough. Hilda actually does, for a moment, before grumbling, “ugh, rich people,” under her breath. Marianne takes a moment to look around.

The atrium is gorgeous, with high ceilings and a perfectly polished dark stone floor on which Marianne and Hilda’s heels click loud enough to echo through the room. All available open space is thoroughly and beautifully bedecked with rich wood furnishings that speak to the impeccable tastes of the homeowner, and the high ceiling hosts a chandelier adorned with what appear to be a thousand little twinkling lights made of shimmering crystal. The room is dominated by a grand double staircase with honest-to-goodness red carpet laid upon it, but to keep anyone from wandering further into the house than necessary, those stairs are sectioned off with red velvet rope. It gives Marianne the impression not of a lived-in home, but of a museum.

Between the two sets of stairs on either side of the entryway, there’s a set of double doors that lead to the manor’s ballroom. Marianne can see dozens of people already inside, mingling around the edges of the room or dancing in the center.

While the presence of such a mob of people would ordinarily only make her more nervous, tonight, she appreciates the anonymity that one can find in a crowd. Perhaps she won’t even run into Leonie or Lorenz at all, and that’s certainly a comforting thought. This engagement party appears to be less of an intimate social gathering between friends and family, and more of an excuse to throw a lavish soiree for anyone in town with the money or clout to get in, and that suits Marianne just fine.

She looks to Hilda, and sees that her date appears to be even more awestruck by their surroundings than she is. Marianne nudges her, gently, and Hilda’s attention quickly returns to the woman at her side. “Yep, mhm, I’m here, what’s up?” she asks, with the tone of someone trying and failing to seem as though they’d been present the whole time.

“Are you ready to go in?” Marianne asks, watching a few other couples move past them and into the ballroom without a care in the world, as though they _don’t_ feel like they’re walking to their execution. Hilda nods, and she looks at Marianne, cocking her head to the side.

“Yeah, but you’re clearly not,” Hilda says, and the way she’s examining Marianne’s face makes her look away. “I have an idea.”

Marianne looks back at her, hesitantly, and sees that Hilda’s wearing a wry little smile. “Should I be afraid of this idea?” she asks, unable to help a smile of her own.

“Dunno, depends how you feel about unprotected public handholding.” 

Hilda reaches out and takes Marianne’s right hand in her left, sending a little rush through Marianne’s body that starts at her fingertips and travels right up to her heart. She bites her lip as Hilda laces her fingers in between Marianne’s and drops both their hands, now firmly interwoven, to their sides. “Feel any better?” Hilda asks, hopefully.

To Marianne’s surprise, she does. She feels the soft firmness of Hida’s hand, the comfort of her closeness, and just like when they’d touched earlier that day in the shop, it gives her a small, fluttering feeling of joy that nestles into her heart and stays there, refusing to budge. “I think so,” she says, and the warmth of the smile Hilda gives her in return is enough to melt away a little more of her worry.

“Good. Together then. We’ll get through this, okay?” Hilda says, sunny and confident, and Marianne finds herself nodding in agreement.

“Okay. I trust you.”

They step over the threshold of the ballroom together, hand in hand. As they do, the band on the far side of the room finishes the song they’re playing, and appears to be preparing to do another right after it. Hilda beams at Marianne. “Look at that!” she says, pointing to the musicians, “they decided to announce our arrival with a song, just for us. Isn’t that nice?”

Marianne laughs, following her lead. “Well, I suppose it is quite nice of them to do that, yes.”

“I have to ask, of course,” Hilda begins, turning to face Marianne and giving a deep, goofy, courtly bow that only makes Marianne laugh even harder. “Miss Edmund, may I trouble you for a dance?” she requests, taking in Marianne’s hand and brushing her lips gently across the knuckles. 

Marianne stops laughing and gasps. “Oh, I, ah...suppose so?” she says, nervous. “I’m not really much of a dancer, Hilda, I mostly just wanted to st-”

“Ah, come on, there’s nothing to it!” HIlda interrupts. “You just hold on to me and follow the way my feet move. My dad made me learn how to dance and I was bored enough to actually pay attention. Guess it’ll finally come in handy, huh?”

Before Marianne can object any further, she finds herself pulled to the dance floor, a little bit of that prior nervousness returning. “Hilda, I’m serious, I- I have two left feet, I really can’t.” But it’s no use, they’re already there on the floor, and Hilda’s turning around to face her.

Hilda reaches down with her free hand and takes Marianne’s. She’s not let go of her other one since they stepped inside the ballroom, and Marianne finds herself hoping that doesn’t change, even if she can’t exactly put her finger on why.

The seamstress moves Marianne’s hand up to her own shoulder and places it there. “Okay, you leave that there,” she says, and Marianne’s glad she’s not looking at her face at the moment, because she flushes as soon as her bare hand comes to rest on Hilda’s smooth, beautiful skin, and her heart begins to beat a little faster. One of her hands in Hilda’s, the other resting there, it’s almost enough to make her dizzy. She can smell Hilda’s perfume this close, a beautiful, soft, subtle rose, and it quickly becomes her favorite scent in the world. As Hilda’s head turns, Marianne can feel her hair tickle the top of her hand.

“A-alright,” Marianne stutters, trying to let as little of her thrilled panic show as possible. “But what about your-”

She’s interrupted as Hilda places her free hand on Marianne’s waist, and she feels a pleasurable little chill run down her spine. It’s almost too much to bear, but she’s confused, because while she’s hardly the most experienced, she’s been touched before. She’s no stranger to physicality, romantic or otherwise, but something about Hilda is enough to make Marianne’s knees weak and her stomach do somersaults.

“There we go,” HIlda coos, her tone gentle and reassuring, and it puts Marianne just a little more at ease. “That’s like, half the battle. Now, keep your hands where they are, and follow my feet with yours.” She uses the hand on Marianne’s waist to guide her through the basic steps of the dance, and though Marianne slips up a few times, she actually finds it to be much easier than she expected. 

She figures it might be even easier, however, if she wasn’t terribly distracted by the acute awareness of all five of Hilda’s fingers pressing against her waist through the back of her dress, leading her, guiding her across the floor, pulling her along through the steps of a dance she’s never done and somehow letting her follow almost perfectly.

Despite the heat spreading rapidly across her body, and the subtle but incessant prickling at every point of contact with Hilda, she finds herself relaxing, leaning into Hilda just a bit more, letting her feet move more or less on their own, while she meets the gaze of her partner. Hilda’s soft, pink eyes lock onto hers, and she feels lost, almost as though she’s falling. She could look into them all night and never get bored, just enjoying how every smile Hilda gives her always reaches all the way up to those beautiful eyes.

They’re so close together, so near, and despite the tension between the two of them, or perhaps because of it, Marianne finds herself leaning in just a bit, just a little more, inch by inch, even closer to Hilda. Their faces are barely apart now, and she closes her eyes, understanding on some instinctive level that she should. She shudders, she feels Hilda lean in just slightly, she feels hot breath on her lips... 

And then the music stops, and the spell is broken. 

Marianne opens her eyes, and sees Hilda’s face mere centimeters from her own. They stand, for just a moment, watching each other, and Marianne realizes they’re both breathing hard, as though they’ve just run a marathon, rather than completed a single song’s worth of slow dancing together. Hilda’s face is flush, a color almost the same as her hair, and Marianne’s feels hot, so she’s sure she matches.

There’s silence between the two of them, before Hilda slowly drops her hand from Marianne’s waist, and Marianne lets hers fall away from Hilda’s shoulder, neither of them daring to look away from the other as they do.

“Do you...want a drink?” Hilda finally asks. “I think I need a drink.” 

Marianne nods in agreement.

“I think that might be a good idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always to @mamirato on twitter for inspiring this work with her fanart, to @tansybells for being the world's most supportive beta reader, and to you for reading! Catch me @spiderlilywrite if you want updates as they drop!


	3. The Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marianne's heart breaks anew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy y'all! This one's a little rough. Mild homophobia, but also, mild smut? It's a rollercoaster.

Marianne is alone for a moment, as Hilda leaves her at one of the standing tables across the room so she can fetch drinks. Marianne casts her gaze about the room, taking in the gorgeous scenery and decorations, watching carefully for anyone she knows, and trying very hard not to let the chatter and the music overwhelm her. She feels Hilda’s absence acutely, though she berates herself for it. She’s only known this girl for a scant few hours, she reminds herself, it wouldn’t do to go and start to get attached.

And yet, something about Hilda pulls at her in a way that few others have ever done. She feels...safe, in her presence. Like anything that might otherwise hurt her doesn’t stand a chance. It’s hard to put her finger on exactly why, but she can say for certain that when Hilda took her hand outside the ballroom, she felt, for the first time that night, that things might turn out okay.

It’s not a feeling she’s used to, and as Hilda walks away, even though Marianne watches her go, even though she knows she’ll be back in but a brief moment, she can’t help but feel the barest, softest hint of longing, wishing that she were by her side once more. She shoves the feeling down, tries very hard to pretend she doesn’t feel it, because it’s deeply, highly improper, but she knows that it’s still there and it won’t go away.

Marianne thinks about walking into the tailor’s earlier today, considers how nervous and upset she was, both about needing her dress repaired, and about her father potentially finding out what she had done. When Hilda had noticed, because she was clearly far more perceptive than she acted, she hadn’t denigrated Marianne for it. She hadn’t told her to suck it up or stop being so weak.

Hilda had taken her hands, and reassured her that everything would be okay while she was there, and the damnedest thing was that Marianne actually _believed_ her. 

She’s shaken from her thoughts as Hilda returns holding two champagne flutes and two glasses of water, which Marianne appreciates. Despite having only done one dance with Hilda, Marianne’s throat feels dry, and she takes one of the glasses with a grateful nod, having a couple of swallows before she speaks again.

“I hope this isn’t too unbearable, so far,” Marianne says, reaching for the champagne. She’s not really much for alcohol, but she supposes a glass of what amounted to sparkling wine won’t hurt too bad. “I know few things are worse than being at a party where you don’t really know anybody.”

Hilda has a few sips of water as well, then grins at her. “ _Au contraire,_ Miss Edmund, I know the only person here worth knowing, and that counts for a lot, right?” 

Marianne rolls her eyes, trying to look nonchalant, trying very hard not to let her face betray the way her heart leaps when Hilda speaks. She has a sip of the champagne to fill the moment of silence, then sighs. “Hilda, you don’t have to keep saying things like that. It’s very sweet of you to want to cheer me up, but I’ll be fine.”

“Who says I’m trying to cheer you up? Maybe I’m just saying these things because I actually believe them,” Hilda remarks. “Not everyone has an ulterior motive or whatever, sometimes people just want to be nice to you because they want to see you smile.”

Academically, Marianne understands that to be possible, but she has a hard time accepting it. Still, she considers, there was that dance, and the way it made her feel, the way it made her heart race when Hilda put her hand on her waist. There was also their closeness, how near their faces were to each other when the dance concluded. She suspects Hilda was trying to kiss her. Marianne thinks she’d probably have let her, and that thought is enough to make her blush again.

“You good, Mari? You’re all red. Do you need more water?” Hilda asks, real concern showing on her face. Marianne waves her off, though the nickname does make her smile.

“No, I’ll be fine, but thank you. I think...I just need a moment,” she says, and then she stops, as she looks out beyond their table and sees a familiar face approaching, arm in arm with a man she doesn’t know. She has to resist the urge to run and hide, to drop down under one of the tables, or to make some excuse for why she really must leave immediately. She feels like a panicked animal with a leg caught firmly, painfully, in a huntsman’s trap.

Marianne lays her hand on Hilda’s, atop the table, causing the seamstress to flinch and look down. “What is it?” she asks, as Marianne squeezes gently. A voice in Marianne’s head tells her than she should be a lot more flustered about grabbing Hilda’s hand like that, but she has bigger things to consider.

“Leonie,” she whispers, just loud enough for Hilda to hear. Hilda stiffens, and follows Marianne’s gaze to the direction from which Leonie, and the gentleman Marianne presumes to be Lorenz, are approaching..

“Aw, hell. Marianne, do we need to go?”

“I...I don’t…”

“Hello!” the man says, inclining his head slightly. He’s well spoken, charming, seemingly quite delightful, and Marianne feels as though under any other circumstances, she might like him. “I feel as though I know every other guest here in my home this evening, but I haven’t had the pleasure of making your acquaintance. I am Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, at your service.”

Marianne’s gaze flickers to Leonie, who looks almost as uncomfortable as Marianne feels. She’s looking around everywhere except at Marianne and Hilda, her perfectly made-up face angled away, as if she hopes she can escape the conversation. She’s wearing a lovely blue dress that, Marianne cannot help but notice, brings out her eyes quite beautifully. Her long hair is braided and lays draped over her shoulder, and Marianne’s heart aches as she remembers running her fingers through that hair as she laid with Leonie in bed.

She feels tears prickle the corners of her eyes, but she draws her lips to a line and takes a deep breath in through her nose, then lets it out. Feeling a little more calm, she manages to respond in her very best ‘polite socialization’ voice, “I am Marianne Edmund, it’s...a pleasure indeed. This is my date, Hilda.” Marianne swears she sees Leonie flinch when she says the word ‘date’, and an expression that Marianne can’t quite place flashes across her ex’s face. Jealousy, perhaps? Or perhaps Marianne is projecting.

“Hilda Goneril, to be exact,” Hilda says, and her voice is just as cheerfully polite as anything Marianne’s ever heard. She suspects her date has more experience in these situations than she had initially let on.

“Goneril…” Lorenz muses, “I believe I know a Goneril. Your brother, perhaps? Holst?”

Hilda titters, putting her hand before her mouth as she does, then waves off the statement. It sounds so _unnatural_ , coming from her. “I’m sure you do, it seems like _everyone_ knows Holst, for better or worse,” she says, and Lorenz chuckles lightly.

“He seems like a fine man to me. Now, Miss Marianne,” he begins, turning back to her. “Given that I do not know you, I can only presume that you’re an acquaintance of Leonie’s. Am I correct?”

“You would be correct,” Marianne says, quietly, trying to hide the sinking feeling that strikes when Lorenz refers to her as ‘an acquaintance’. She had once been far more than that, and perhaps the wound from Leonie’s departure is still a little more raw than she had expected. She squeezes Hilda’s hand even harder, and Hilda, subtly and without drawing attention, turns her hand over to clasp Marianne’s and squeeze back. “I’m-” Marianne begins, but Leonie interrupts her, her face a heated scarlet.

“She’s my...uh, my ex-girlfriend,” Leonie says quickly, wincing as the words leave her mouth and drive a knife squarely into Marianne’s heart. Marianne is struggling to keep her expression neutral, but she feels the tears welling up in her eyes again. Lorenz’s eyes widen noticeably, and he turns to look at his fiance.

“Your...ex-girlfriend?” he asks, seemingly aghast. “Leonie, I didn’t know you were a-”

“I’m not!” she cuts in again, and this time, it’s Hilda who squeezes tighter. Maranne spares her a glance and sees that Hilda, beside her, has her jaw set as if she’s expecting a fight. Marianne looks back at Leonie, feeling utterly helpless as Leonie’s next words grab the knife planted in Marianne’s chest and twist, hard.

“It was a phase, in college, I’m done with it, okay? Drop it,” she hisses, and Marianne whimpers, feeling like she’s just been punched in the gut. The loose stitch that’s been holding together the pieces of her broken heart falls away and suddenly, the pain is fresh and new.

The tears spill over, and a single broken sob escapes Marianne’s throat. She’d been hoping she would be able to get through the night without anything like this, but Leonie’s words, her denial, they’re too much to bear. 

“A...phase. Of...of course.” Marianne squeaks, and she can see Leonie’s lip quiver before she turns away and storms off in the opposite direction. Lorenz, for his part, simply looks confused. 

“I am so terribly sorry; please excuse us,” he says, and paces quickly after Leonie.

Marianne turns to look at Hilda, sees that she’s holding her champagne flute so tightly that her knuckles are white. Hilda stares after Leonie and Lorenz as they go, glaring daggers at them, and says in a voice dripping with venom, “That absolute _bitch_.” She snaps the stem on the glass, and it cuts a shallow gash into her hand, but she doesn’t even seem to notice.

“I...Hilda, I’m so sorry,” Marianne manages to choke out, before slipping her hand from Hilda’s and walking as quickly as she can for the door of the ballroom. She has to get out of there- get away, run, go be anywhere other than there, where Leonie humiliated her in front of the nicest person to stumble into her life in years.

Marianne thinks she can hear someone calling after her.

She feels so _stupid_ , as she breaks into a run the second she’s through the doors. Why did she let Hilda come with her to her ex girlfriend’s engagement party? Why did she think that was appropriate? She’s not even sure why she’s running away at this point, but she knows she can’t face Hilda after that, not after it’s been made so clear that she’d been cast off like garbage. She doesn’t think she could bear the shame of being pitied by Hilda, too.

Without thinking, she turns to the stairway, and, seeing that nobody is around, slips under the velvet rope and heads upstairs. She just wants to find a place she can cry in private, without embarrassing herself, her family, or Hilda any more than she already has. 

As she turns right down the hallway, she sees that the first door there is cracked open, and figures that’ll suffice. She darts inside, and closes it off behind her. Finally, she feels as though she’s escaped the weighty judgement of everyone at the party, if only for a moment.

Marianne looks around and takes in her surroundings. It’s a study. It’s quiet, the walls are lined with shelves upon shelves of books, and there are several comfortable looking chairs as well as a large, beautiful desk made out of polished wood. 

She makes use of none of this furniture though; she doesn’t feel like she can move that far. Instead, she leans against the wall next to the door and sinks down to a sitting position, hugging her knees tightly. The dam inside her cracks, then shatters under the pressure that’s been building since Leonie’s declaration.

“It was a phase in college. I’m done with it,” she had said, her voice cold and hard and angry.

 _You were a phase. I’m done with you._

That had been what she meant, hadn’t it? Marianne had given Leonie her heart, and her love, and her faith, and her joy, and she had been a thing, just another thing for someone to use and discard once they had no further need. It hadn’t felt like that, back then. She thought of Leonie’s laughter, of her strength, of her kindness, of her beauty. Marianne thought of the way Leonie had held her when she was tired, or scared, or couldn’t keep going.

Her restrained, coughing sobs come hard, and turn into unfettered, ugly weeping. Marianne feels her head and chest begin to hurt, but she can’t stop herself. She squeezes her legs through the fabric of her dress, hoping that keeping a firm hold on something real can help her stay grounded, at least a little. 

Nobody’s holding her now, no strong arms are wrapped tight around her and telling her everything will be okay. 

It’s just her. Alone.

Minutes pass, and she runs out of tears to cry, the weeping becoming choking, becoming heaving, and she eventually forces herself to take long, deep, shuddering breaths. Marianne had thought herself to be stronger than this, but she supposes she isn’t. She had been hoping she could make it through the night, chin held high, in a way Leonie would have been proud of, but she didn’t. And when she was confronted with adversity, when something unexpected happened, she ran. Like a coward. 

And Hilda…

She’d just left Hilda there, at the table, and she felt awful for it. There was no way for her to know where Marianne had gone, whether she’d fled to another part of the house, or outside, or run away for someone to come get her and bring her home. Hilda had shown her nothing but kindness, had sacrificed her evening to come to this stupid party with Marianne, and she’d repaid her by losing control, running away, and leaving her stranded and awkward and alone in a ballroom. She’ll probably never want to speak to Marianne again. Marianne wouldn’t blame her.

Marianne feels numb. She sits on the floor and stares blankly ahead, her eyes unfocused, at the books on the shelves in front of her. Now what? She could call her father, have him send a car, but she’ll have to explain why her makeup is destroyed and why she’s leaving so early. She could call a cab or something, but where would she go?

She supposes she could just sit here in the study until the party is over. Her father will still send a driver, and she’ll have to explain what happened to her makeup, but at least she won’t have to go back out and face Leonie or Lorenz or any of their friends for the rest of the evening. Marianne decides this is probably the best option, and she stands up on shaky legs, figuring she might as well at least move to a chair. Her heart skips a beat when there’s a knock at the door. 

She panics, standing in the middle of the room, looking around for a place to hide. Marianne knows she’s not supposed to be in here, and the last thing she needs is to gain a reputation for snooping around people’s homes. But before she can find a suitable place, she hears a familiar voice.

“Mari? Are you in there?” Hilda calls through the door, and she feels that panic replace itself with guilt. Hilda had come looking for her. For a moment, she considers ignoring her in the hopes that she might just go away, leave, and go home. But...no. Hilda deserves better than that.

“Y-yes,” she calls, embarrassed by how hoarse she sounds. She doesn’t know how long she’s actually been in here, but it feels like she’s been crying for hours. Marianne turns away from the door and braces herself for the tirade about her rudeness. But it never comes.

“Can I come in? Or do you need to be alone?” Hilda asks, quieter, more gently. Marianne hesitates, considering her options. 

She sighs, and tries to wipe her cheeks as best she can. “Come in,” she answers, and the knob turns, the door creaking open behind her. She doesn’t turn to look, but she hears someone step into the room, and close the door behind them. Then, she hears the lock on the door click.

“I uh...locked it. You might have meant to, but forgot? I don’t think it would be good if Lorenz or someone came in here and saw us right now, yeah?” Hilda asks with a nervous laugh, not taking any steps forward. Marianne feels like a frightened deer, and Hilda’s treating her like one.

“Thanks,” Marianne mumbles, not quite sure what to say. “I’m sorry, Hilda,” she adds.

There’s a moment of silence.

“Sorry for what?” Hilda eventually replies, sounding genuinely confused. “Leonie was being a huge bitch. She made you cry! I would have gone and beat her up if I hadn’t been more worried about finding you.”

Marianne says nothing. She crosses her arms in front of herself, and squeezes tight. Hilda seems to take that as an invitation to continue.

“Marianne, it’s okay. I’m not mad at you. And I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to. Can you talk to me?”

“Why does it matter?” Marianne asks her, quietly, feeling more tears welling up in her eyes. She’d thought she was done crying for the day. Apparently, she had been wrong. “Why do you care if I talk to you? I’ve been nothing but trouble since I walked into your shop. You should probably just leave now and get it over with.”

“Nah,” Hilda says simply. 

“Nah?” Marianne echoes, befuddled, turning around to face her. “What do you mean, ‘nah’?”

“I’m not going anywhere; I already said that. So, nah.”

“Hilda, you can’t just _say_ that, how do I know-”

“You don’t know. You’re just gonna have to trust me on this one. I’ve known you for all of like…” Hilda trails off and looks around for a clock. She spots one and squints at it. “...ten-ish hours? But I know I want to keep learning more about you.” She takes a few steps closer, leaving them a couple of feet apart, and puts one hand on her hip, the other pointing accusatively at Marianne.

“I know you’re a good person. I know you’re kind, and beautiful, and sweet, and tough, and I want to be here for a while. And I know you’ve been fucked over an awful lot, so I can’t actually prove it to you, but if you want me here? I’ll be here! And that’s all there is to it.”

Marianne sniffles, and laughs weakly. Hilda’s enthusiasm is, as it has been all day, infectious.

“Of course, if you want me to _try_ to prove it, I have an idea,” Hilda says, her eyes twinkling mischievously. 

“Oh, another of your ideas?” Marianne teases, feeling just a little better, though her voice still feels a little rough for her liking. “Last time it was holding my hand, so what could it be now?”

Hilda takes another step closer, and though she seems confident, she’s trembling slightly, and Marianne can hear it in her voice. “I could seal the deal with a kiss.”

Marianne’s breath catches in her throat, and she puts a hand to her lips to stifle any involuntary embarrassed or surprised noises that might try to escape. She looks at Hilda for a second, watching as her forced, cocky grin starts to falter and her face begins to flush in preconceived embarrassment. She’s relatively confident that Hilda isn’t nearly as sure of herself as she lets on. 

Marianne thinks about the end of their dance in the ballroom, about how close she was to Hilda, and how she could feel her breath hot on her own lips. They had almost kissed, then and there, she’s sure of it. Lowering her hand, Marianne says, quietly, “I’ve been crying. I’m probably gross.”

“I think I could tolerate that,” Hilda says, matching her volume, and closes the last of the distance between them. She’s within arm’s length now. “Marianne, I,” she says, her voice fluctuating between nervous and excited, “I’ve been wanting to kiss you all day. Since you first stepped into my shop, actually. Can I kiss you?”

The request is the last thing Marianne needs to hear. Her need, her desire for closeness, Hilda standing _right there_ , all of these things in combination override her nervousness. Her heart pounding in her ears, she practically _leaps_ into Hilda’s arms, and presses their lips together, and it feels like her chest explodes.

Hilda makes a shocked, surprised noise, but her arms quickly wrap around Marianne, pulling her in, holding her close, and she returns the kiss with just as much energy as Marianne had in initiating it. 

Marianne grasps at Hilda’s dress, finds any handhold she can in the fabric, desperately clawing to keep her body pressed against the seamstress’s. The kiss is hungry, and heated, and she can feel the tension that’s been building between them all day snap with the force of a hundred ropes pulled just a little too taut. Hilda whimpers into her mouth and it drives her on even harder. She _needs_ this, dammit, and she doesn’t seem to be the only one.

She pulls Hilda to the side, pushing her down into a chair and sliding onto Hilda’s lap like it’s the most normal, natural thing on Earth. She’s straddling her, the skirts of her gown covering them both, loose enough that they don’t obstruct her movement. Her arms drape over Hilda’s shoulders and fall behind her, behind the chair, and it doesn’t matter because her whole world, her whole being is focused on the space in between her lips and Hilda’s.

After a moment, she realizes what she’s doing, that she’s carried away. Marianne pulls back for just the barest hint of a second, stammering, breathing hard, “I-I’m sorry, I don’t know-”

She can see Hilda’s eyes are wide, dilated, astonished, but she doesn’t seem upset. She breathes the words, just loud enough for Marianne to hear her: “Don’t you dare apologize. Please, goddess, keep going.”

“I didn’t know you were religious,” Marianne murmurs, pulling one hand up and laying it on Hilda’s perfect, beautiful jaw, taking the moment to catch her breath.

“I’m not praying. I’m talking to the one on top of me.”

Marianne leans in again, kissing her on the mouth, and deepening it, sliding her tongue in between Hilda’s lips, pushing, searching, needing as much as she can get. Hilda puts her hands on Marianne’s hips as she does, and yields completely to her pace. She pulls down on Marianne’s hips, hard, and Marianne groans into Hilda’s mouth as she feels herself grinding against Hilda’s lap.

Her mind is racing, telling her this is too much, too fast. She’s never been so intimate with someone after knowing them for so short a time, but she can’t make herself care, because Hilda came to her and said she’ll be here, and she’ll _stay_ here, and Marianne wants to show the woman _exactly_ how grateful she is for that.

Hilda pulls down again, harder, more insistently this time, and with a moan, Marianne brings her other hand up, using both of them to cup Hilda’s jaw as they kiss, keeping a firm, but gentle hold. Hilda whines again, the sound a desperate, starving, needful one, and Marianne wants nothing more than to give her anything in the world that she wants.

But a thought occurs to her, and she pulls away, though doing so goes against every single impulse she has.

A frustrated little whine floats out from between Hilda’s lips, and the sound blows heat right through Marianne’s body. “Why’d you stop?” she pleads.

“We’re still in Lorenz’s house. If we got caught, it would be committing social suicide. My father would never let me see you again and I can’t...I don’t want to risk that. I’m sorry, Hilda.” Just the thought of not being able to see her again is almost enough to make Marianne cry for a third time.

Hilda’s eyes light up with an idea and she begins to talk, fast and desperate. “Okay, Mari, hear me out. And please, please, _please_ don’t be offended, but do you want to come back to my apartment? I know this is sudden, but like, what hasn’t been tonight? I have like...extra pajamas and stuff, and you can stay the night, and-”

Marianne’s better judgement tells her it’s a horrible idea. Her father will find out she left early, she’ll be missing from the party, people might see the two of them leave together, it’s improper, it’s too soon...

She looks at Hilda’s beautiful, pleading eyes below her, sees her flushed face and perfect, kissable lips, and shoves her better judgement deep down where it belongs, before interrupting, confidently and definitely.

“I would love to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, as always <3  
> Catch me on twitter @spiderlilywrite for updates as they come!


	4. The Nighttime Rendezvous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hilda brings Marianne's home and says something like a prayer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's all smut, and I've been going over it with a fine toothed comb for like three days, so I hope it's good for ya!

They scarcely make it inside Hilda’s front door before Marianne finds herself pinned to the wall with Hilda pressed flush against her. The seamstress doesn’t seem to be taking it nearly as slowly and cautiously as she had been at Lorenz’s manor, but Marianne is glad for it, she’d want it no other way. She’s already given her consent, goodness, she’s already _thrown_ herself at Hilda. 

So when Hilda puts one hand on the small of Marianne’s back, and the other goes up to the back of her neck to hold her steady and still, it makes her gasp aloud. Hilda kisses her hotly, passionately, what begin as little pecks quickly becoming deep, open-mouthed affairs full of need. It’s as though Hilda’s drowning and Marianne has the only air to be found, hidden away behind her lips.

She gives it freely, her own hands finding their way to Hilda’s hips, and she’s not sure what else to do with them, but this feels so very _right_ , and she keeps their bodies pressed together, loath to let there be even an inch of daylight between them. She needs Hilda more than she needs anything in the world, and something about being caught between her and the wall sets her off in all the best ways.

When Hilda pulls back for more than just a gulp of air, Marianne is worried she’s done something wrong, at least until Hilda leans down and presses her lips to Marianne’s neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there and drawing forth a desirous little whine. Hilda doesn’t just bite, though; she sucks at the skin, pulling, and Marianne realizes she’s trying to leave marks on her. Hilda does it again, and Marianne clenches hard at Hilda’s hip, hissing at the little twinge of pain, then says, “Hilda. Hilda, _please_ ,” and if she were more lucid, if she wasn’t riding low under an aroused haze that swallows up all her logical thoughts? She would probably feel a little embarrassed about how desperate she sounds.

Hilda pulls back just enough to speak, but her breath is still warm on Marianne’s neck. “What? Do you want me to stop?” she hums, barely audible.

“Y-you’re going to leave a mark,” Marianne says.

“Yeah, duh. I want you to wake up tomorrow and see these in the mirror and know there’s more where they came from. I _asked_ if you want me to stop. Do you?” she pushes, and Marianne knows she will if she’s asked to.

Marianne hesitates. It’ll be a pain to try to cover them later, but she finds that in the moment, she just doesn’t care. “No, Hilda, I absolutely do not.”

“Mmm. Good. Keep saying my name, I love the way it sounds coming from you,” she purrs, and leans in to bite and pull on Marianne’s neck a third time. This time, Marianne doesn’t just hiss or whine, she moans, and it only serves to egg Hilda on. The woman uses the hand on Marianne’s neck to tilt her head exactly where she wants it to be, and leaves several more little marks on Marianne’s neck, on one side, then the other, and Marianne knows it’s going to take more than a high necked sweater or a scarf to cover any of this up.

But then, she’s also not totally sure she wants to.

Hilda shoves one leg in between Marianne’s, and pulling her forward, grinds Marianne against her thigh Marianne’s breath catches as she realizes exactly how aroused she already is. She’s never needed anyone quite so badly as she needs Hilda right now, and though the motion is clumsy through the fabric of their dresses, it’s enough to make Marianne shudder. Hilda clearly feels it, and Marianne can feel Hilda’s lips curl into a wicked smile against her throat. 

“You’ve been screwed over pretty bad lately, so I have a plan, Marianne. You wanna know what it is?” Hilda teases, grinding her leg forward again and making Marianne whimper, both in need and embarrassment. 

“I suspect I’m going to find out either way,” Marianne breathes, and Hilda laughs. 

“Yeah. I’m going to pick you up, I’m gonna carry you to my room, and-”

“Carry me? Is that...strictly necessary?” Marianne interrupts.

“Yes, absolutely. I’m going to carry you to my room, I’m going to pull this dress off you, and I’m going to _worship_ every inch of you. I’m going to show you exactly how beautiful you are to me. I’m going to make sure you understand how, when you walked into my shop today, I immediately found you to be the most wonderful, radiant woman I’ve ever seen. You like my plan?”

Marianne’s heart is pounding. She swears she can hear her blood rushing in her ears. It’s overwhelming. It’s too much, and she wants it all anyways. “I think I do, Hilda.”

“Cool, I’m really glad to hear it. And then after I spend a good long while doing that, I’m gonna make you come so hard you can’t think straight.”

The pounding stops for a moment, then starts again. She feels her face get even hotter, and she restrains the urge to cover up with her hands. This isn’t the first time she’s ever been with someone so intimately, but Hilda’s words are enough to fluster her anyways. “A-are you, then? Oh. I see.”

Hilda giggles and squeezes Marianne tight for a moment, holding her close enough that Marianne swears she can feel Hilda’s heartbeat. “God, how are you so fucking cute all the time? It’s great, you’re perfect, come on.”

She cries out in shock as Hilda, true to her word, reaches forward and places one hand behind Marianne’s knees, puts the other on her upper back, and scoops her up in her arms as though she were no heavier than a pile of laundry. She throws her arms around Hilda’s neck for stability and leans in, taking advantage of her position to kiss Hilda’s throat once, then twice, then three times, and leaves a mark of her own on the third. Hilda gasps in surprise as she does, but laughs again anyways. Marianne laughs with her, as Hilda’s hair swishes down over her face and tickles her nose.

As she nudges open a door down toward the end of a short hallway, Hilda leans over and uses Marianne’s foot to flip a lightswitch, which reveals Hilda’s bedroom and the rather large, plush bed in the middle of it. Marianne fully expects Hilda to toss her down onto that, but no, she lays her down gently atop the covers and pulls back. Hilda then stands there, her hands on her hips, and gazes down at her intently. It makes Marianne feel just a little self conscious.

“Hilda, why are you staring at me? It’s embarrassing,” Marianne complains, propping herself up on her elbows. It was bad enough being bridal-carried to the bed, and she can feel the weight of Hilda’s gaze so heavily it might as well be the woman’s body pressing down upon her.

“Just thinkin’ about how lucky I am to be able to take such a cute girl to bed tonight. Not exactly how I figured my day would go when I woke up this morning, but I gotta say, Marianne, I think I’m okay with it.” Hilda puts on a wide, cocky grin, and the expression looks so natural on her face.

Marianne pouts, reaches for a little stuffed animal laying near her and throws it at Hilda. Hilda lets the toy bounce off her forehead without flinching. “You stop that! It’s...you’re-”

“I’m what, telling the truth? Too bad Marianne. You’re beautiful, and kind, and sweet, and I am so glad you’re here with me. Now, lets see if I can do something about that dress,” Hilda muses, leaning down and gently, slowly pulling the arm-loops of Marianne’s dress down, then supporting her while she slips her arms out of them. Marianne keeps her eyes locked on Hilda’s the whole time, not daring to look away, as though she’s under a spell.

Her breath is coming shallow and short as she watches Hilda’s face, sees how hungry she looks, sees how _eager_ she is. Marianne isn’t used to it, but she loves it, and finds that it awakens something inside her. She feels as though she should be ashamed of what’s happening in the bedroom right now, but she’s also feeling a warmth and comfort and safety that’s oddly foreign. She wants to be wanted, and Hilda’s filling that need whether she means to or not.

The dress comes down easily, once her arms are free, and she fights the urge to cover herself or look away as it’s pulled off her and cast aside like the obstacle it is. She’s laying on Hilda’s bed, clad in only her panties, and she shivers, gripping the blankets beneath her. She’s completely at Hilda’s mercy, and Hilda bites her lip as she watches Marianne below her.

She knows how she must look. She’s nude, pale, but flushed, breathing hard, and clearly, obviously more needy than she’s ever been in her life. Marianne feels hot, and she wants more from Hilda, but the other woman seems to be in no such rush.

Hilda kneels down, as though Marianne lies not upon a bed, but an altar, and Hilda is her sole heartfelt and zealous worshipper. She reaches forward and lifts Marianne’s leg daintily from where it dangles off the edge, and presses her lips to the top of her foot, trailing a line of kisses all the way up to her knee. As she does, she drags her fingernails slowly, torturously, agonizingly, alongside. Marianne feels goosebumps rise on her skin. 

“You have absolutely fantastic legs, Marianne. I couldn’t appreciate them properly since you were in a long dress all night, but I’m more than happy to make up for that now,” Hilda says, and Marianne can feel her lips grazing her skin as she speaks. She’s torn between wanting to look away bashfully, and still being unable to tear her gaze from the seamstress’s face.

She sees Hilda, who still has her eyes focused on Marianne’s body and is making sure to take in every inch as though it’s a Renaissance painting she’s seeing for the first time. Hilda leans forward, raising herself up just a little bit, just enough for her to continue to kiss her way up Marianne’s leg, travelling up her inner thigh this time, as her hands massage the skin there. All Marianne can think of is her paleness, or any spots she might have missed shaving, or any redness there, but Hilda seems to take note of none of that.

No, as Hilda adores her way up Marianne’s body, she sees nothing in her eyes but pure admiration and that same, raw hunger that she’s been seeing since even before they walked in the door. “Hilda, goodness, I...I don’t think I can take much more of this,” Marianne says, squirming under her partner’s touch.

“Mmm, that’s too bad. You’re going to have to,” Hilda hums, clearly delighted by the reaction she’s getting. As she reaches the apex of Marianne’s thighs, Marianne thinks she’s going to do something about her underwear and she covers her face, feeling her body grow hot, knowing that Hilda can probably see exactly how aroused she is, but no. Hilda simply leans up and places a small kiss, chaste and soft, on the waistband. “Not just yet, Mari. I’m gonna ask you to be patient for me,” Hilda says, but she’s not asking. She’s not leaving room for debate.

Marianne groans in frustration and drops her arms back down to the bed. She’s so sensitive, and the breath against her makes her doubly aware that she’s breaking a sweat as Hilda’s actions drive her further and further beyond what she thought was her limit. She’s grasping at the blankets, writhing on the bed, and Hilda does nothing but continue to tease her, pressing her hips down to keep her from moving around too much.

“I love watching what this does to you, Marianne. I thought you were beautiful before, but watching you lose control like this? Seeing you come apart, and knowing it’s because of me? Oh, man, I think I’m falling- uh, _feeling_ it, too,” Hilda says, stumbling over her words a little. Marianne wonders what she’d been about to say, but another searing, burning press of Hilda’s lips against her bare skin is enough to banish most all thoughts from her mind.

She’s to Marianne’s stomach now, crawling onto the bed and looking for all the world as though she’s drunk on Marianne’s body. While Hilda kisses and nibbles her way painfully, but steadily, upward, her hands move further still. She palms Marianne’s chest, dragging her hands down and back up, then flicking her nails across the nipples. Marianne gasps at the sudden sensation and squirms yet again, but Hilda’s still positioned right over her core, and she keeps her steady. “Oh, are we a little sensitive?” Hilda asks with a short little laugh. Marianne groans at her in response.

“Alright, how about this instead?” Hilda continues up her front, pressing a soft little peck to the bottom of Marianne’s breast, then another a little further up. She gives Marianne a sly grin before leaning down to take the nipple in her mouth and flick her tongue across the tip. 

Marianne knows Hilda’s trying to get a reaction out of her, and she’s too worked up to deny one. Before she knows what she’s doing, her hand slips down and she buries her fingers in Hilda’s unbound pink hair, tugging gently.

“Hilda, how long do you plan to keep doing this?” she pleads, scraping her nails down Hilda’s scalp, drawing a pleased hum from her partner. 

Hilda flops down onto the bed next to Marianne, curling up against her like a cat. She lays her head on Marianne’s chest and puts on a faux-innocent face that isn’t fooling anybody. As she does, she pinches Marianne again, on the other side, then twists gently. “What _ever_ do you mean?” she asks, her eyes sparkling as Marianne mewls and closes her own, trying desperately to keep herself under control.

Her entire body feels as though it’s on fire, and the heat between her thighs is especially distracting. As soon as Hilda had moved on from her legs, Marianne had pressed them together, trying in vain to manage the ache there. Even the skirts of Hilda’s dress dragging across her legs feel almost too overwhelming. “Hilda, you know very well what I mean,” she insists, stroking the woman’s hair idly. “I’m no stranger to...bedroom activities. What is it that you’re after?”

“It’s not so much what I’m after, Mari. I meant it when I told you I wanted to bring you to bed and worship you. You’re amazing. When you walked into my shop today, I could have sworn I’d been struck dead on the spot and you were an angel swooping down to pick me up and carry me off to heaven. And I suspect that you don’t get told often enough how great you are.”

Hilda winks, then slides her hand up just a little further, dragging her fingers slowly over Marianne’s collarbone. “I just want to take in everything about you. Your legs are beautiful, I could kiss around your tummy for hours, you make the _cutest_ little noises when I mess around with your boobs…” She looks up, not at Marianne’s face, but at her throat. “I think I’ve already made it pretty clear what I think about your neck.”

Marianne is absolutely reeling. She hadn’t been lying before, she had been in bed with a partner more than once, but it had _never_ been like this. Nobody had ever taken the time and energy to lavish her with attention like Hilda is, and she’s caught somewhere between mortified embarrassment and true, honest, pure joy that she gets to be with someone who looks at her in such a way.

“W-well, I appreciate it, certainly,” Marianne says, “but you’ve made it all the way up now. I don’t suppose that’s it?”

Hilda slides off of her and clicks her tongue. “No, of course it isn’t, silly. I’ve only had a chance to appreciate the front of you.” She reaches down and, before Marianne can object, flips her over like a pancake, so Marianne lands on her stomach.

She feels Hilda, rather than sees her, as she leans in and puts one hand around Marianne’s throat, dragging those perfectly manicured nails up in such a way that Marianne can’t help but gasp. Hilda cups her throat gently, not enough to interrupt her airflow, but enough to keep her steady. Her other hand starts at the back of Marianne’s neck where hair meets bare skin, and Hilda drags one single finger down, and back up again. The sensation makes Marianne shiver. Hilda leans down and whispers in her ear.

“Earlier today, I knew I wanted to end up here, when you were standing on that little pedestal in the shop, and I was behind you, and I was staring right _here,”_ she gently jabs her nail into that first little stretch where the blue hair ends. “And I was thinking of how much I wanted to kiss that spot,” she adds, leaning down and doing just that, humming against Marianne’s neck. 

“I also thought about how much I wanted to keep going. Thought about, like, doing _this?”_ Hilda releases Marianne’s throat and fans both of her hands across Marianne’s upper back, as though she’s mimicking angel wings. “I don’t know _why_ I wanted to, but I did. I just kinda needed to have my hands on you however I could.”

Hilda begins to rub her back, working her hands up and down, pressing her shoulders, working out just a little of the tension she holds there. In any other situation, it would be relaxing, but all Marianne can think about is the long list of other things those hands could be doing to her right now. Fighting to keep her breath even, she tries to settle down and enjoy the treatment.

Just when she feels like she’s managing it, Hilda rakes her nails down Marianne’s back, making her yelp, both in pain and surprise. She’d have to admit, though, it’s not painful enough for her to _dislike_ it, per se. Hilda snickers behind her. “I also kinda wanted to just mark up that smooth, pretty back. It _might_ be hard for you to wear stuff that's open back here for the next few days. Whoopsie!”

Marianne sighs, frustrated, and Hilda, as if on cue, pulls one hand away and brings it down on Marianne’s backside. It’s hard enough to make her cry out, “Hilda!” but that only makes her partner laugh harder. 

“You also have just a _great_ ass. Like, I don’t know if you’re aware of exactly how good that dress made you look, but it really, _really_ did wonders back here.”

Marianne’s face grows hotter. “Hilda, you’re so crass, do you know that?” she admonishes, and she swears she can _hear_ the shrug in Hilda’s voice.

“Hey, maybe, but I’m not wrong!” she giggles. “Alright, I think I’ve done a pretty thorough job of telling you exactly how good lookin’ you are, let me try something else.”

“What might that- Oh!” Marianne cries out, startled, as Hilda flips her back over and returns to the edge of the bed, where she had started. She kneels again, too, but this time, she slides down beneath where Marianne’s legs dangle over the edge and puts them up on her shoulders. 

Marianne feels the bottom drop out of her stomach, and she begins to breathe even harder in anticipation of what Hilda seems to be preparing to do. Sure enough, Hilda leans in, grabbing Marianne’s thighs and pulling her forward. There’s no hesitation in any of her motions, Marianne thinks to herself with a mixture of admiration and intimidation. Hilda has a very clear idea, it seems, of what she wants, and has every intention of taking it. She plants a couple of kisses on Marianne’s inner thighs before sliding one hand up and hooking her panties with a finger, pulling them aside.

She’s not sure if Hilda’s breathing harder on purpose or because she’s feeling the same way Marianne is, but she can feel that breath acutely as a result of the dampness there. Marianne cranes her head back, closing her eyes. Watching Hilda go down on her seems like it would just be more than her heart can take at the moment.

Her mind changes as Hilda leans in and drags her tongue, slowly, languorously, lazily, from Marianne’s entrance up to her clit, against which she flicks it once, teasingly. She can’t help but look down and crack her eyes open, and the sight of Hilda looking up at her while she gives Marianne another long, torturous lick is enough to drive her mad. Her nerve endings are all screaming, and she reaches down, taking either side of Hilda’s head in her hands, stroking her temples with her thumbs, trying to be as encouraging as possible.

“Hilda, please,” she begs breathlessly, certainly not for the first time that night, and she suspects, not the last. “I can’t take any more, please!”

Hilda chuckles, and Marianne feels it in her bones. “Mmm, yeah, I guess I have you pretty worked up, huh? Go me!”

“Yes, go you, now _please_ -”

“Oh, fine, since you asked so nicely,” Hilda sing-songs, before leaning in again and going at her task in earnest. She circles Marianne’s clit with her tongue once, then twice, before leaning in to suck gently. Marianne feels the pressure begin to build, low and slow, then harder and harder in a matter of seconds as Hilda increases her speed and intensity. It’s better than anything Marianne has ever managed to accomplish on her own, or with anyone else.

So, when Hilda moves her free hand up and plunges two fingers into Marianne with a slick, easy push, Marianne swears something breaks inside her. She _screams_ , and begins to cry Hilda’s name, over and over, as Hilda’s ministrations continue, as though it’s a religious mantra. Marianne is past the point of propriety, now, and she hopes that the walls of Hilda’s apartment are thick, otherwise her neighbors are going to hear her for sure.

She writhes, she squirms, she bucks her hips, and none of these things are enough to interrupt Hilda’s flow as she plays Marianne’s body like an instrument at which she is a virtuoso. Marianne can feel Hilda working her up to a climax, and she cries out as much, urging Hilda on, begging her to continue.

“Hilda, please, I’m so close, I’m going to...to,” she cries brokenly.

Hilda, from between her legs, breathes, just loud enough to hear, “Sing for me, Marianne.”

Marianne does. She cries Hilda’s name as though it’s a prayer and a curse all at once. A dam breaks within her and she swears she blacks out for a moment as the waves of ecstasy hit her like a train. She clamps her thighs tight around Hilda’s head, keeping her from going _anywhere_ while Marianne rides out the crests of her orgasm. It’s not necessary, though, Hilda doesn’t stop or try to pull away. She works slowly, methodically, thrusting her fingers and gently, carefully working with her tongue to keep Marianne’s climax going as long as possible.

When Marianne finally comes down, she’s taking long, deep, shuddering breaths. Her hands are clamped onto Hilda’s head as though she’s afraid she’s about to float away, and her legs have fallen away and off of Hilda’s shoulders, limp. She releases Hilda, who falls back onto the floor with a surprised gasp. 

“Wow, Mari, you get pretty intense when you come, did you know what?”

“Your fault…” Marianne gasps. The room is still spinning and she’s having a hard time figuring out which direction ‘up’ and ‘down’ are. “Are you...should I?”

Hilda snorts. “Nah, I got _everything_ I needed watching _that_.” She whistles, and Marianne groans for what she thinks must be the millionth time that night. “Hey, you good Marianne? Can you think straight?” Hilda asks, sounding legitimately curious.

“What? No, not really,” Marianne replies, and it’s the truth. She feels dazed. 

Hilda gets up and walks around the room, going to her dresser. “Hey, cool, I kept my promise,” she says, beginning to root around inside. “You want something to sleep in? I can’t imagine you wanna sleep in no top and underwear that, if we’re being honest, I contributed to absolutely soaking.”

With an exasperated sigh, Marianne gives a shallow, half-hearted “yeah,” and she’s rewarded with a tank top and a clean pair of underwear that looks fresh from a package. She makes a mental note to ask Hilda later if she has enough strange women over in her apartment that keeping extra pairs on hand is normal for her.

After a short visit to the bathroom across the hall, which her shaky legs make difficult, Marianne returns to find Hilda, her makeup removed, in a baggy tee shirt and some comfortable looking shorts, and the sight is so sweet and familiar that it makes Marianne’s heart ache. Hilda looks at the space next to her on the bed, frowns, and shoves a small army of plush toys to the floor.

“Come on. You’ve had a long day, and I think it might be good for you to be a little spoon for the night,” Hilda says, patting the bed next to her. “Can you get the lights?”

Marianne does so, then, with some hesitation, slips in next to Hilda. It feels odd to be curling up in bed with a woman she’s known for less than a day. It’s certainly out of character for her, but she finds that she’s not nearly as bothered as she would expect to be. 

“G’night, Mari.” Hilda mumbles, slinging an arm across Marianne and snuggling in close behind her. 

“Goodnight, Hilda. Thank you for everything today,” Marianne replies, and sleep claims her faster, and easier, than it has in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me on twitter @spiderlilywrite!


	5. The Clear Light of Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marianne gets it together, as best she can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! The fics I had been writing for Wank Week took up a lot of my time, but I've been fooling with this one for a while. It's more of a housecleaning chapter than anything, but I hope you like it all the same.

As the full events of the night before unfold in Marianne’s mind, she feels her face grow warm. She couldn’t claim to be drunk, couldn’t write it off so easily. Maybe she’d been drunk on the atmosphere? But no, that’s not it either. The atmosphere of the party was overwhelming at best, horrid and traumatic at worst. 

She thinks about Hilda. She thinks about the way that Hilda swept her up in her arms and made her feel like the center of the universe. With Hilda, she doesn’t feel like a fixture, or an object, or window-dressing.

When she’s with Hilda, she feels...important.

And so perhaps, that’s why she let herself come undone in Hilda’s arms. Perhaps that’s why she felt safe to do so, why she dropped her guard so quickly and so completely. A voice, deep in the back of her mind, tells her that she shouldn’t trust so easily.

 _Good things don’t happen to you for long, Marianne. You’d best get out of there before you get attached,_ the voice says, and for the first time in a long time, Marianne flicks that voice away to a dark, forgotten place where she can barely hear it.

Marianne lies on the bed, staring at the soft pastel pink of the ceiling in Hilda’s bedroom, deciding, just this once, to allow herself to let go. She almost dozes off like that, but her eyes snap open as her phone cries for her attention in her hand. Marianne picks it up, and checks the message that is, of course, from Hilda. She smiles softly. It’s as if Hilda knew she was thinking of her.

_Goneril Shop Girl :)  
_ _Just 2 more hours to go!! Are you counting the minutes? :3c_

She snorts. Cute. Marianne types out a quick reply.

_of course i am. how could i not be?_

Hilda’s response comes in seconds, as though Hilda’s been holding her phone, awaiting Marianne’s response eagerly. She feels a little thrill at that, considering that someone’s so eager to talk to her that they’d be hanging on in such a way.

_Goneril Shop Girl :)  
_ _Good!!! You better eat something. I know you don’t wanna go through my stuff, but I have Big Plans and I don’t wanna have you getting all distracted cause you’re hungry. ;)_

Marianne sighs. Guilty as charged. But if Hilda’s insisting, she supposes that she ought to just appreciate her new friend being a good host, and try not to worry too much about it. 

_thank you, that’s very generous. i’ll make sure to clean up any messes i make_

_Goneril Shop Girl :)  
_ _Okay, cool! Oh, and you’re welcome to the shower if you want one._

_Goneril Shop Girl :)  
_ _Not that you need to!! If you don’t want to. But you can! And I left you something to change into on the bathroom counter._

_Goneril Shop Girl :)  
_ _But you totally don’t have to, I promise I’m not saying you’re stinky. <333_

The last text makes Marianne laugh and roll her eyes.

_well, i will be if i don’t shower, so thank you for the permission. i’ll eat something and have a shower and be all ready for you when you get back_

She thinks about it for a moment, then adds a little heart emoji at the end before sending the message and putting her phone back on the nightstand.

Marianne slides out of bed and stretches, feeling some positively delightful pops all throughout her body. She’s not stepped out of bed this late in weeks, and it feels nice. Something about Hilda’s apartment, something she can’t quite put her finger on, actually makes her feel more comfortable than being at her father’s house. She feels not just rested, but safe, and it’s something she never wants to leave behind again.

She crosses the hall to the bathroom, deciding to shower first.

Hilda, ever the gracious host, had indeed left a pair of sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a towel, all neatly folded up on the counter. Marianne struggles to remember the last time someone had been so considerate of her and her needs, and Hilda’s kindness is enough to make her feel warm. What had Marianne done to deserve such treatment?

After fiddling with the knobs in the shower for a moment, she sheds her nightclothes, such as they are, and steps under the stream of pleasantly hot water. It feels divine, and after taking a moment to simply enjoy the sensation of the water against her back, she sets about getting clean.

It’s difficult, as she washes her body and hair, not to notice the myriad little reminders of their activities the night before. Marianne beholds bite marks in the skin of her thighs, little bruises around her upper chest and on her breasts, and a few thin little lines where Hilda had run her nails across her body. Her face grows warm for reasons that have little to do with the hot water, and she smiles to herself as she thinks about it. 

Once she’s clean, and smells pleasantly of Hilda’s shampoo and bodywash, she towels off and changes into the loungewear left for her. Unsure of what to do with the clothes she slept in, and not wanting to be rude, she folds those up and places them on the counter along with her towel. It’s been a long time since she’s been a guest in another person’s home overnight, and she certainly doesn’t want to make a bad impression. Although, she feels that Hilda wouldn’t be too terribly upset either way.

As she opens the door and heads to the kitchen for some food, she looks around Hilda’s living room and finds that it’s decorated almost exactly how she would expect. A couple of fashion and craft related magazines are scattered on top of her coffee table, which sits in front of a large, plush leather couch set against one wall. There are a couple of blankets folded up on that couch, as well as a couple of novelty heart-shaped throw pillows. It’s cluttered, she notes, but nothing about the room looks _dirty_. It just looks lived-in. It’s a far cry from Lorenz’s home from the night before, or even her own, in that regard.

A few small bottles of nail polish sit atop the magazines on the coffee table, along with what appears to be the remote for the television in the corner, and one of those romance novels that are two-for-five dollars in a gas station. She grins. Something to gently tease Hilda about, perhaps.

There are photos on the walls, some of Hilda, some of people she doesn’t recognize. In some of them, Hilda appears to be standing next to a man that Marianne assumes, based on their uncanny similarities, must be her brother. Marianne looks at those pictures especially fondly, considering how nice it would be to have a sibling to look up to.

The only thing that seems a little bit out of place is a large, old, rough looking medieval-style axe, mounted on an ornate wooden board. It’s odd enough that she does a double-take as her eyes slide over it, and she blinks in confusion. Marianne steps closer, not daring to touch it, and reads the plate affixed to the mounting board.

 _Freikugel_ , it says, and she makes a mental note to ask Hilda about it later. While the young woman has proven herself to be far from predictable, a battle-axe hanging on the wall seems a little strange, even for her.

Marianne heads back across the room and steps into the kitchen. As much as she would indeed like to deny it, she feels quite hungry, and she realizes that the last food she ate was probably some of the hors d'oeuvres at the engagement party last night. Hilda’s permission to make herself at home and her own hunger war against her anxiety for a moment as she chews on her lip and tries to decide what to do. Ultimately, the hunger wins out and she makes herself a sandwich. She takes it back into the living room, sets her plate down on the coffee table, and perches on the edge of Hilda’s couch. Marianne looks around nervously, as though she expects someone to appear and berate her for her awful manners.

What on Earth is she _doing,_ she wonders to herself. Yesterday morning, she’d been lying in bed, dreading attending Leonie’s engagement soiree. Yesterday afternoon, she’d been standing in a tailor’s shop, getting a dress repaired after ripping it in a childish and foolish attempt to escape her evening commitment. Today, she’s sitting in the home of a relative stranger, after that stranger took her home for a one-night stand. Granted, she loved every second of what they’d done last night, but in the clear light of day, she can’t believe she’d gone along with it. Marianne feels her pulse quicken as a dozen ways this could go horribly wrong begin to crash through her head, but she forces those thoughts away. Nothing to be done about it now.

As she picks up the sandwich and takes a bite, her eyes float over to the cover of the romance novel Hilda’s been reading. Marianne grabs it with her free hand and looks it over, eager for a distraction.

 _Conqueror’s Desire, by Dorothea Arnault,_ proclaims the cover, and she swears she recognizes the name of the author from somewhere. The art is of a rather dashing looking knight, with one arm wrapped possessively around a woman in a long, flowing dress that bares far too much of her chest to be reasonable or period-accurate. Marianne opens the book to the page Hilda had marked. Reading has always helped to calm her down and take her mind elsewhere, and she can’t help but be curious about what sorts of books Hilda likes.

 _Manuela jolted at her desk as the door to the infirmary slammed open, and she turned around to see the knight...no, turned to see_ her _knight, Catherine, standing in the doorway, her armor dented and beaten, her sword still in her hand._

Marianne takes another bite of her sandwich without looking away from the book. She’s not read a romance novel featuring two women before, but she knows she ought not be surprised. Hilda certainly doesn’t seem like the type to hide who she is from anyone.

_It looked as though she had come straight up after returning from her latest mission, and Manuela felt hot, savory warmth begin to rise within her under the intensity of the Thunderbrand’s heated, piercing stare. Her dark eyes burned with an intensity unlike anything Manuela had ever seen, and she put a hand to her chest, as though doing so might still her frantically pounding heart._

_“Catherine, good heavens, what’s brought you in at this time of night? Surely if you’re up and walking, you don’t have any injuries that couldn’t wait until morning,” she said, her breath coming hard and shallow, though if it was from shock or arousal, she couldn’t say. She knew why Catherine was really here, though, and she knew she’d not be getting any sleep tonight._

_Her knight tossed her sword to the side, and it skittered away into the corner of the room with a hard crash. A priceless artifact, cast away as though it were a toy she were simply tired of playing with. She didn’t say a word, but her eyes were hungry and she took a step forward, then another._

_Manuela stood up, her silken robe, cut short to mid thigh and open scandalously low at the front, rustling as she did, and she put her back to her desk as she watched Catherine approach. Her lover looked, for all the world, like a hungry wolf, and Manuela couldn’t shake the feeling that she was about to be dinner._

_As soon as she was close enough, Catherine reached out with one gauntleted hand and put it behind Manuela’s back, pulling her close, and kissing her passionately, hotly, full of vigor and heat and life. The knight tasted and smelled of clean sweat and the metallic tang of battle, and that drove Manuela wild. Though she claimed to be a pacifist, there was something thrilling about Catherine’s utter ferocity._

_They pulled apart, and Catherine growled down at Manuela, “The only injury I sustained this day was a heart rent nearly in two at the thought of waiting one more night to return to you.” Manuela’s stomach fluttered, and she leaned in close, thrusting her ample chest forward, and looking up at her knight in dented armor._

_“Well, Lady Catherine, I suspect I can provide a very thorough examination to make absolutely sure you haven’t been hurt elsewhere,” she said, her voice husky with desire. “Let me help you out of that armor.”_

Shifting uncomfortably, Marianne notices the less-than-subtle effect that the book is having on her. The prose isn’t awful, although she’s certain she could have written better when she was still in high school. But as she reads, she can’t help but imagine Hilda in that armor, or Hilda striding in the door and casting that axe, _Freikugel_ , aside. She imagines herself being scooped up in Hilda’s strong, battle-hardened arms and kissing her until she’s dizzy from it, and then...

Marianne closes the book with a surprisingly forceful thump, and sets it back down on the table. Enough of that for now. The last thing she needs is to get herself all hot and bothered. After finishing her lunch and rinsing her plate in the sink, she returns to the bedroom and retrieves her phone. Marianne cocks an eyebrow as she sees she has two missed messages. That was fast.

_Goneril Shop Girl :)  
_ _Heyyyy, Mari, guess what! I bullied Holst into coming in early, so I’m on my way home!!!_

_Goneril Shop Girl :)  
_ _I hope you’ve been good, or else!! >;) _

Before Marianne has a chance to consider the implications of the second message, she hears the front door swing open.

“Honey, I’m home!” Hilda sings from outside, her voice cutting straight through the space between the two of them and hitting Marianne straight in the heart. She isn’t sure why, but something about those words just feels _right_. 

“I’m coming!” Marianne calls back, dropping her phone into the pocket of her sweatpants and hurrying to the door.

"Not yet, you're not!" comes the reply, and Marianne rolls her eyes. Never one to hide her intentions, indeed. Still, she’d be lying to claim she’s not a little curious about what Hilda’s had planned all morning.

Marianne turns the corner out of Hilda’s bedroom and hurries down the hall. She sees Hilda standing in the living room, leaning against the countertop that separates it from the kitchen, arms crossed in front of her. 

She’s wearing the top that Marianne saw in the picture and videos Hilda sent her, of course, and some close-fitting black pants that compliment her figure quite nicely. Marianne knows it’s rude to stare, though, so she doesn’t give Hilda’s bottom half more than a quick glance. No matter how much she wants to let her eyes linger. It would be impolite. 

So instead, Marianne takes in Hilda’s smile, the unrestrained, joyful expression that crosses her face when she looks up and sees Marianne.

Oh, to capture that look perfectly and hold it in her mind’s eye forever. She’s confident that the way Hilda beams at her could keep her warm all through the winter, for several winters in a row. It’s so honest and pure that Marianne can feel the corners of her own mouth turning up, matching Hilda as best she can; she can’t help it. Over the last twenty-four hours, Hilda’s been working to make Marianne feel like she’s the center of the universe, and reflected in that smile, Marianne can almost believe she is.

“Welcome home, dear,” Marianne says, levity bubbling out from her before she can think to be self conscious. “How was your day?” Not knowing what to do with herself, Marianne stands there at the end of the hallway, several paces from Hilda, her hands folded in front of her politely. Hilda heaves a long, exaggerated, melodramatic sigh.

Hilda crosses the gap between them and takes those hands, one in each of her own, and pulls Marianne close. She stumbles a bit, but Hilda’s sturdy enough to catch her, and when they kiss, it’s just as full and lovely as the ones from the night before. Marianne closes her eyes and sighs softly. Perfect.

“Well, it was kinda cruddy, and boring, but it’s a lot better now,” Hilda banters playfully. “I hope you’re not too mad at me for leaving you all by yourself.” She dives in for another kiss before Marianne can respond, and she finds that she doesn’t mind all that much.

Once they part for air again, though, Marianne manages to stammer, “N-no, of course not. You had to go to work, I understand that!” and Hilda laughs.

“Yep, that’s me, bringing home the bacon. Speaking of which, you did eat something, right?” she asks, letting go, leaning in further, and drawing Marianne in close. She puts her head on Marianne’s shoulder as they embrace.

It feels almost as though Hilda’s going to squeeze the life out of her, but Marianne doesn’t mind that, either. “Of course, I said I would, didn’t I?” she says, wrapping her arms around Hilda as well.

Just then, though, she feels something. It’s something solid, pressing against her lower stomach, almost as though Hilda has a…

“Good girl,” Hilda purrs, her tone mischievous. “I told you I had _big_ plans, and I meant it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to the wonderful [tansybells](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/tansybells/pseuds/tansybells) for beta-reading for me, to @mamirato on twitter for doing art that makes me wanna write these two dorks so much, and feel free to come yell at me on twitter as well [@spiderlilywrite](https://twitter.com/spiderlilywrite)


	6. The Big Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marianne takes the lead, whether she wants to or not, and finds that she quite likes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Yet more smut, and so soon after the last! It's gonna just be P L O T for a few chapters after this though.

For a moment, Marianne’s afraid to even move. She stands stock still, pressed against Hilda, chin on her shoulder, mid-hug. Her brain works overtime, as she tries to come up with something, _anything_ , clever to say. It’s a lost cause though, because the feeling of what is absolutely a strap-on pressing against her has driven every reasonable, sane thought out of her head, replacing all of them with three simple truths.

One, Hilda left work early to come back to the apartment out of eagerness to be with her. Two, she’s planning to fuck Marianne. Three, Marianne _really_ wants her to do just that. Simple. Right. Goodness.

Ultimately, after standing speechless for far too long, she settles on the only question able to force its way up from the absolute tar pit of filth that her brain has just become. 

“Hilda,” she asks quietly. “Were you wearing that all day?” She feels the other woman’s cheek press a little closer to hers; Hilda’s grinning ear-to-ear.

“Maybe,” Hilda says. She sounds so faux-innocent that Marianne can’t help but roll her eyes. “Makes me feel powerful.”

The warmth of Hilda’s body is positively intoxicating, and Marianne feels as though she could stand here and be hugged all day long, especially after Hilda slides one hand up and threads her fingers through Marianne’s hair. Hilda’s arms are so _strong_ , and while she expects that an embrace from someone like her might ordinarily feel crushing, she simply feels safe. She’d felt that way last night, she feels that way now. She even feels safe enough to tease Hilda, just a bit.

“It makes you feel _powerful_ to have that thing pressing up against you all day? Really?” she asks, holding back a giggle. “Association of a phallus with power? I didn’t take you for one to subscribe to traditional gender roles like that.”

Hilda pulls back and leans casually against the counter beside her, making a show of how at-ease she is. “Maybe it was just a constant reminder that soon, I was going to go home and just absolutely _ravish_ my woman,” she says, with a cockeyed smile and a deep, burly, affected voice that both _clearly_ indicate that she’s joking. And yet…

When Hilda says that, when she calls Marianne _her_ woman, it sets her heart aflutter. That statement, spoken in jest, is enough to make her head swim. _Her_ woman. Hers. Hilda’s. Oh dear. She’s known Hilda for less than forty-eight hours and already, she’s blushing at the idea of the two of them as an item, going weak in the knees as though she’s a high school girl being asked to prom.

There will be time, Marianne reminds herself, to think about such things later. Right now, she needs to move this along, because between the book she was reading and the memories of last night that have come flooding back, she’s more than a little hot and bothered. So she smiles gently and reaches one hand out, innocent as she can, and places it on Hilda’s hip.

The other woman shivers visibly, and Marianne’s grin grows just a bit wider as she sees that her move had the intended effect. She’s not used to being so forward; last night was something of an anomaly for her, but she likes what it did to Hilda, and loves feeling desired. It’s a power she’s never really had, and Marianne feels as though she just might end up a little drunk on it.

“Hilda,” she sighs, stepping in just a little closer, “I’ve been thinking about last night.”

Hilda perks up, cocking an eyebrow at Marianne. “You have, huh? What about it?” She asks as though she’s legitimately curious, but given the blush spreading up Hilda’s cheeks like a slowly catching flame, Marianne suspects that she knows the answer already.

She’s standing nearly nose-to-nose with Hilda now, she’s close enough that she can feel the heat off the other woman’s body, her forearm is brushing against the soft, comfortable fabric of Hilda’s risque little top as her other hand lands on Hilda’s hips as well, opposite the first. “I was thinking about how happy you made me,” Marianne says, and she sees Hilda’s gaze flicker down to her lips for just a moment. “And how nice you were to me. You said on that message this morning that you really like me, a lot.”

Marianne leans in and presses a kiss full of soft heat and longing to Hilda’s lips, gripping the other woman’s hips just a bit tighter as Hilda gives a pretty little whine right into Marianne’s mouth. As Marianne pulls away, she notes that Hilda’s panting, her eyes are dilated, and her face is even more flush than before. “Well,” Marianne continues, still feather-soft, feeling heat rise in _her_ face as well. “I really like you a lot, back.”

Hilda laughs, and it’s a low, breathy sort of noise. “Gosh, I’m pretty glad for that, Mari, because it would be _really_ awkward for me right now if you didn’t.” Her tone is awestruck, as though she’s just gazed upon divinity itself, and she looks at Marianne with stars in her eyes. It makes Marianne’s breath catch, because she can’t remember the last time someone looked at her that way. She can’t remember if anyone _ever_ has.

“I’m glad we have that settled then,” Marianne murmurs. “Weren’t you going to do something, Hilda? Something about ‘ravishing your woman’?” Their faces are still mere inches apart, and so Marianne gets to watch as something positively _feral_ finds its way into Hilda’s eyes. 

The seamstress, as though she’s been reminded that she ought to be in control here, throws her arms around Marianne. One is on her back, her hand gripping the fabric there tight, and the other lands on her backside. Hilda squeezes with that second hand, and Marianne gasps despite herself, and gets a wolfish grin from Hilda for it. “Cute,” she says, before pulling Marianne in for another kiss.

Where the last kiss was warm and hungry, this one is hot and ravenous. Hilda claims Marianne’s lips so hard, and so fast, it’s as though she’s afraid someone else will get there first. Marianne lets her, happily melting into the embrace _and_ the kiss without hesitation. She slides her hands from Hilda’s hips to her lower back, and a moment later, she’s glad she did.

Hilda picks Marianne up as though she weighs nothing at all, never breaking the kiss, and guides them both over to the couch in the living room. She eases herself down, leaving Marianne straddling her lap in such a way that she can feel the unusual, but not at all unpleasant, shape in the front of Hilda’s pants. As Hilda breaks away briefly to breathe, Marianne giggles. 

“What’s...so funny?” Hilda demands between breaths. Marianne gives her a tight-lipped smile, as though she’s trying to keep herself from laughing, and draws her hands out away from Hilda’s back. She drapes them over her partner’s shoulders instead, hums in satisfaction, and quirks an eyebrow.

“You mean you didn’t do this intentionally?” she asks, and Hilda frowns, confused.

“Do what intentionally?”

“Oh,” Marianne chuckles again. “Well, this is just like last night. At Lorenz’s. In that chair. I thought you were trying to do that again.”

Hilda looks thoughtful for a moment before Marianne sees the realization on her face. “Ah, no, not exactly. Although…” she trails off, gripping Marianne’s backside again and grinding the other woman down onto her. Marianne gasps at the brief rush of sensation. “If I’d had _this_ last night, I don’t know if we would have made it out of there without getting caught.”

Marianne giggles, letting one of her fingernails trace short, delicate circles on the back of Hilda’s neck, flicking back and forth through the small hairs there. “You might be right. But we don’t have to worry about that now, right?” she asks, and Hilda grins wryly.

“No, s’pose not.”

As she leans down to kiss Hilda again, she sighs contentedly. A lazy afternoon with Hilda is exactly what she needed, even if she hadn’t known it until that moment. She rubs her hips down on Hilda as they kiss; it doesn’t seem like Hilda is in all that much of a hurry, and neither is Marianne, but the stimulation is _lovely_ and she can feel herself getting more aroused by the moment. 

The hand Hilda has on Marianne’s back dips down and back up, this time under Marianne’s borrowed top, and Hilda drags her nails down Marianne’s back in much the same way she had the night before. Marianne moans, her hand tightening on the back of Hilda’s neck. She hadn’t known she enjoyed being scratched so much, but one learns something new every day, she supposes.

After Hilda lays a few fiery trails down Marianne’s spine, she seems to decide that the clothing is simply too burdensome, and she grabs the hem of the garment and pulls it off. It goes up, over Marianne’s head, and away. Marianne moves her arms to accommodate the action, as she’s certainly no more attached to the superfluous clothing than Hilda.

Hilda _finally_ breaks their kiss, and before Marianne has a chance to protest, she finds out why. The seamstress dips her head back down and leans forward, brushing her lips against Marianne’s neck and laying a trail of pecks down her sternum. When she arrives at Marianne’s chest, she kisses her way across Marianne’s breast before taking the peak in her mouth and swirling her tongue around it slowly. Marianne groans as Hilda does so, sliding a hand into Hilda’s hair and tugging gently, needing to do _something_ other than just passively enjoy Hilda’s ministrations.

In moments, her partner pulls her mouth away, and Marianne gasps as the now saliva-slicked nipple is exposed to the cool air of the room. Hilda wastes no time, kissing her way to the other and doing the same, each motion wringing a new little noise from Marianne.

Once Marianne is panting and sighing, her body hot and tingly, Hilda finally pulls away and looks into her eyes. She’s grinning triumphantly. “Wow, Marianne, I can play you like an instrument, huh?” she asks, and Marianne looks away, suddenly self conscious.

“I...uh...I can try to be quieter, if you want,” she mumbles, and Hilda clicks her tongue in disapproval.

“Mari, if I didn’t want you to be noisy, I wouldn’t be trying to _make_ you be noisy,” she says, her tone chastising. Marianne looks at her again, hesitantly, trying to force that sense of shame away. That’s right. Hilda’s not like that. She hasn’t gotten mad at Marianne for anything, she reminds herself, and it doesn’t seem like she plans to begin now. Hilda’s face softens. “Don’t worry. I like it. It lets me know I’m doing a good job.”

Marianne nods, then bites her lip and looks down at Hilda, who is still fully clothed. “Can I...you know…?” she asks, gesturing with her eyes at Hilda’s top.

Hilda rolls her eyes. “Well yeah, of course. I was wondering how long you were gonna let me sit here with all my clothes on! It hardly seems fair, after all.” Hilda helps Marianne pull her shirt off, and her bra quickly follows, both garments being cast quickly and unceremoniously aside.

Marianne tries not to stare, she really, really does, but it occurs to her that she hasn’t seen Hilda topless yet, aside from the picture she sent her that morning. And so, despite her best efforts, she stares. At least, she does until Hilda snaps her fingers and demands her attention. “Hey, I know I have absolutely phenomenal tits, but my eyes are up here, Mari.”

“Sorry!” Marianne squeaks in apology, her hands snapping to cover her mouth defensively. “I wasn’t trying to be rude! I promise, I don’t want to offend you or anyth-”

“Whoa, slow down!” Hilda interrupts, laughing as she reaches up and pulls Marianne’s hands away from her face. “I’m just teasing, promise! I’m not offended; you can look all you want.” She leans in a little and whispers conspiratorially. “And because I _really_ like you, you can _touch_ , too.”

Closing her eyes for a moment, Marianne takes a deep breath. Hilda’s not mad. Of course. She smiles as she opens her eyes, but it’s a nervous smile, and she knows it shows. “I-if you’re sure.”

Hilda snorts. “Marianne, I just had my _mouth_ on yours. It’s fine, I swear.”

Marianne slowly, gingerly, lowers her hands to Hilda’s chest, as though she’s afraid she’s going to get burned. Hilda smirks. “Come on, Marianne, where’s that assertiveness you had earlier?”

An idea seems to strike Hilda, and she grabs Marianne by the back and waist again. She pulls them both down in such a way that Hilda lands on her back on the couch with Marianne on top of her. Marianne yelps, shocked, catching herself with her hands on either side of Hilda’s head. “I’ve decided I want you to take the lead,” the seamstress says, grinning ear to ear. “I’m feelin’ lazy.”

Marianne stops for a moment, unsure what she should do. Take the lead? She’s never really taken the lead before during an intimate encounter; she’s usually just swept along by her partners and does what they’d like her to do, and that’s always been fine. But for Hilda? She’ll give it a try.

Marianne leans down and kisses her again; that seems like as good a place to begin as any, and she needs to buy herself a few seconds to think. Hilda’s certainly not complaining, she notes, as the other woman closes her eyes and sighs into the kiss.

She puts her weight all on her left hand and reaches up with her right, laying it on Hilda’s collarbone and dragging it down, slowly, steadily, to rest on Hilda’s right breast. She squeezes gently, flicking her thumbnail over Hilda’s nipple. The other woman whines into her mouth, and she finds that she enjoys the sounds Hilda makes, just as surely as Hilda insisted on the reverse. So she does it again.

Hilda hums, then tilts her head away to break the kiss. “There we go, Mari, there we go,” she says, sounding quite pleased so far. “You’re so lovely.”

Marianne’s thankful Hilda’s eyes are closed so she doesn’t see her blush at the compliment. _Lovely._ She shivers. “A-as though you’re one to talk,” she breathes against Hilda’s neck, still a bit unsteady. She kisses Hilda there, then moves down a few inches and does it again. “I-is this okay?” she asks. She knows it’s not the most _sexy_ thing in the world to say, but she doesn’t want to waste time on something Hilda doesn’t like.

“Yeah, jeez, Marianne. I’ll take pretty much anything you give me at this point,” Hilda purrs. “Dunno if you’ve noticed, but I’m pretty into you, and just the whole…” she trails off, waving one hand up at Marianne. “You know. Everything you’re doin’ there.” She opens her eyes and winks up at Marianne, who chews her lip and looks away. 

There’s something freeing about that, something empowering. Hilda’s here, she’s here for _her_ , and she’s excited about it, happy for it, and she trusts Marianne to keep making her happy. In that moment, Marianne knows she would do absolutely anything for Hilda. And given that her partner has made such a to-do of the toy between her legs, Marianne thinks she knows exactly what she wants to do right now.

Marianne continues laying her line of kisses down Hilda’s neck and chest, scooting her arm down to keep her supported, and every little whimper, every squirm and wiggle, every reaction she gets only drives her forward even harder. Having Hilda beneath her like this, at her mercy and trusting her absolutely, is one of the most wonderful things she’s ever experienced, and she could experience it forever.

She makes her way to Hilda’s stomach and drags her hands down as well, keeping pace with her pecks and the flicks of her tongue against Hilda’s bare skin, leaving no inch untouched. Eventually, Marianne hits the waistband of her pants, and she works at them for a moment, struggling to undo the buttons there. Hilda catches on and, apparently deciding to take a momentary break from her oath of inaction, reaches down to flick the last couple of buttons open with a practiced hand. Marianne breathes a word of thanks as she pulls the garment off and casts it away, just as they’ve done with all the others so far. 

The object itself is bright pink, which doesn’t really surprise Marianne in the least. It’s also just a _little_ bit smaller than it felt through Hilda’s clothes, but Marianne supposes that she was probably letting her imagination run a bit wild. She’s thankful for that, though, because she certainly doesn’t want to look foolish as she makes her next move.

Marianne leans in, presses a little kiss to the top of the toy, then slides off of Hilda entirely. Hilda gives her a plaintive, protesting little whine, but Marianne doesn’t take long. She’s only gone for as much time as it takes to drop her sweatpants and underclothes to the floor and kick them aside, then she resumes her previous position on the couch, above Hilda’s hips.

Hilda moves her hands up to Marianne’s waist, her touch electric, her nails prickling delightfully against Marianne’s skin and causing her to groan softly. She’s thoroughly enjoyed everything they’ve done so far today, but Marianne knows that if she doesn’t get some relief for this heat that’s built in her core and set every nerve ending in her body ablaze, she’s going to lose her mind.

She feels the tip of Hilda’s strap pressing against her, and without a word, she slowly lowers herself down onto it. Hilda gasps, almost as though she can feel it, as though the object isn’t just a toy, but a part of her. She doesn’t press down on Marianne’s hips, though, doesn’t make Marianne move an inch more or a second faster than she wants to. 

Marianne’s head falls forward and she groans again, closing her eyes and focusing only on her movement, on the pace at which she continues. With a broken little whine, she feels her hips come to rest on Hilda’s. She feels Hilda’s grip tighten, and Marianne looks at her, meeting her gaze, letting Hilda see what she knows has to be bare, unrestrained need, want, and desire.

“Wow,” Hilda breathes. For a moment, neither of them moves.

Marianne, panting, smiles down at her lover, her hands finding their way to Hilda’s shoulders, which she grabs for support. “Is this good, Hilda?” she asks, and she knows that she sounds as desperate as she feels. She cannot, at the moment, bring herself to care. “Is this what you were wanting?”

“Yep, yeah, this is absolutely what I was wanting. I think I was on to something last night, by the way,” Hilda confirms, and Marianne raises an eyebrow at her, so she continues. “You look like an absolute _goddess_ above me, Marianne.”

“Flatterer,” Marianne sighs, her grip on Hilda’s shoulders tightening as she lifts her hips, ever so slightly, and sets them back down. Just that little bit of movement alone is enough to make Marianne squeak, and Hilda gasps aloud, looking absolutely delighted.

“Oh my god, that was so cute. Do that again!” Hilda exclaims. 

“Do...do what again?” Marianne asks, moving once more, her voice coming out decidedly ragged. She looks down at Hilda, having a hard time focusing on anything other than the burning need inside her.

“That noise you made, it was _adorable_!” Hilda clarifies, and Marianne groans, refusing to look her in the eye.

“Hilda, please, that’s embarrassing!” she complains. As she picks up the pace, though, bouncing on Hilda’s hips faster and faster, little by little, she can’t hold herself back. She whines and moans and pants and as much as she _wants_ to stop making those sounds, she knows Hilda likes them, and she also knows she’s certainly not about to stop what she’s doing.

She tries instead to let go of that self-conscious concern and relax a little, and that proves to be just a bit easier when Hilda finally decides to help out. Hilda rolls her hips up in time with Marianne’s own movements, pressing, grinding, and rocking in _just_ such a way that it manages to hit every sensitive spot Marianne has. At the same time, she takes one of her hands off of Marianne’s waist and drags one finger between her legs instead.

Marianne cries out, feeling that pressure begin to build, feeling that blissful warmth pooling low inside her as Hilda puts in a _little_ more work than she said she would. It’s not going to be long, she knows it. She just has to keep going, just keep going, just a _little_ bit more.

Her voice rises to a fever pitch as she approaches her peak. Last night, it had been a slower, gentler build, and she was tired, and she hadn’t been grinding on Hilda’s godforsaken toy for the last half hour, and it hadn’t been so _rough_.

But here, as she is, she’s moving frantically, working herself into a near-frenzy over an incredibly enthusiastic Hilda who simply _won’t_ stop complimenting her. Amazingly, as well as making her heart swell and do somersaults, her words are almost as much of a turn-on as her actions.

“There we go, _there_ we go, Marianne,” Hilda coos, gritting her teeth as she rocks the strap up into her just a little harder. “You’re doing so well, you’re so beautiful, Mari,” she continues, refusing to let up even a little bit. “Are you going to come for me?”

“Y-yes! Hilda, I’m going to. I’m so close, please,” she begs, and Hilda chooses that moment to thrust up with her hips, the base of the strap hitting her _just_ right to tip her over the edge into her climax.

Marianne’s head goes light, she trembles, and stars explode behind her eyes. In lieu of crying out Hilda’s name loud enough to shatter her windows, she drops herself down atop Hilda and lets their lips crash together. Hilda doesn’t seem to mind, deepening the kiss without hesitation and closing her eyes as Marianne moans, shaky and exhausted, into her mouth.

When she comes down from her high, she realizes she’s gone almost entirely limp on top of Hilda, who is making absolutely no moves to alter their positions whatsoever. She sighs in exhaustion, aftershocks making her twitch ever so slightly, and buries her head over Hilda’s shoulder. She catches a faceful of pink hair in the process.

Hilda’s hands are on her back, one stationary, and one rubbing slow circles, and Marianne feels as though she could probably just fall asleep there, despite it being barely midday. She feels Hilda pull in a long, shuddering breath.

“Wow,” Hilda says again. “Hey, Mari? Not to put too fine a point on it or anything, but that was _really_ hot.”

Marianne only groans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, if you'd like to come make fun of me, find me on twitter [@spiderlilywrite](https://twitter.com/spiderlilywrite)
> 
> Thanks again to [tansybells](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/tansybells/pseuds/tansybells) for being the world's best beta, and to @mamirato for continuing to draw the sweetest art in the world.
> 
> Next chapter: Hey, why DOES Hilda have a battleaxe on her wall?


	7. The Phone Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's supposed to be a lazy afternoon, but someone has other plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Sorry it's been almost a month, but I've been keeping busy, and I'm _going_ to finish this fic, come hell or high water!

It takes a few minutes for Marianne to feel steady enough to pull herself off of Hilda, but her partner certainly doesn’t seem to mind. In a way, Hilda almost reminds her of a cat; when she decides she wants affection, there’s really no escape. Marianne has no doubt, of course, that Hilda would give her space if she wanted, but it’s been so long since she felt cared for like this, and she’s not about to tell Hilda to leave her alone.

Slowly, and with a gasp as Hilda’s strap slides out, Marianne eases herself off of Hilda and onto the plush couch beside her. It’s a tight fit, and she’s still about halfway on top of the other woman, but it means Hilda can slide out from under her. She does just that, albeit reluctantly and with an exaggerated groan. 

Once Hilda’s on her feet, she leans down and plants a little kiss on Marianne’s forehead, and her skin tingles with electricity. “I’m going to go put on something more comfy. Do you want new clothes?” Hilda asks, and Marianne shakes her head.

“I’ll be fine. Thank you, Hilda,” she replies, her voice still a little shakier than usual. Hilda smiles at her, knowingly, before retreating to her room.

“Be back in just a minute, try not to miss me too much!” she calls over her shoulder as she bounds around the corner. Marianne smiles too, despite her exhaustion. Hilda’s enthusiasm is, as always, infectious. 

Marianne eases herself up to a seated position on the couch and scans the room for the clothes that Hilda lent her. It doesn’t take her long to locate them and get dressed. It occurs to her, as she does, that Hilda might have chosen to lend her those garments in particular for how easy they are to put on and take off, but she decides to be nice, and not assume the most lascivious possible motive for Hilda’s kindness.

She barely has time to get back to the couch before Hilda returns, true to her word, in what can’t have been more than a minute and a half. She’s wearing a pair of yoga pants and a too-large t-shirt, with her hair tied back in a ponytail, and this does predictably little to dull her radiance.

“Did ya miss me?” she asks, flopping down onto the couch beside her. Marianne’s sitting upright, and Hilda elects to take that opportunity to lay herself out and use Marianne’s lap as a pillow. Hilda looks up at her expectantly with those bright, lovely pink eyes, and Marianne sighs.

“I managed to keep myself from getting too upset, but I’m glad you’re back,” she says, her tone light. “I don’t know what I’d have done if you were gone for too much longer.”

Hilda nods, solemnly. “Of course. I made sure to hurry. You don’t wanna make a girl mad when you’ve got a battleaxe in easy reach.”

Marianne looks up at the wall across the living room, where _Freikugel_ is mounted, and frowns at it. That’s right. She’d meant to ask Hilda about that, but they’d been a little caught up in...other activities.

“Um, Hilda?”

“Yep?”

“Why _do_ you have a battleaxe hanging on the wall?” Marianne inquires, looking down at the woman on her lap. “It’s a little strange, don’t you think?”

Hilda beams at her. “Maybe it’s a secret. Maybe it has a long, bloody history and it’s way too gruesome for a delicate flower like you to hear.”

In response, Marianne huffs and pokes Hilda on the tip of her nose, giving her a mock scowl and doing her best to mimic Hilda’s carefree attitude. It comes easier than she might have expected. “Hilda, I’m not a delicate flower, I am a _grown woman_. I’m sure I can handle it.”

“I don’t know, Marianne, it’s pretty crazy!” Hilda teases, but Marianne holds her scowl firmly in place, even if little hints of a fond smile creep in at the edges. Eventually, Hilda folds under the intensity of Marianne’s completely affected displeasure, and she rolls her eyes. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you! So, the first time _I_ saw this axe, it was-”

She’s interrupted by a light, musical chirping from Marianne’s pocket.

The tune is pleasant enough, out of context, but Marianne knows what it heralds, and she blanches. Only one person would be calling her right now, and she’d been hoping that her earlier misdirection would have held him at bay until she could concoct a decent explanation for the last day and a half. Hilda stops as she sees Marianne’s face fall. “Is something wrong?”

Marianne doesn’t answer, instead fishing her phone out of her pocket and looking at it to confirm her fear isn’t misplaced. It isn’t. The word ‘Father’ blazes on the lockscreen, a written indictment for her misbehavior. Her chest feels tight, and the lightness and levity she felt only moments earlier have both vanished without a trace. She can hear buzzing in her ears, and she swallows hard.

“I’m sorry, I have to answer him,” Marianne mumbles unsteadily, and Hilda seems to catch on almost immediately. She draws her thumb and forefinger across her lips in a ‘zipping’ motion, then gives Marianne a thumbs-up.

She takes a deep breath in, then exhales, looks at the phone, and taps the button to answer the call.

“Hello, Father,” she says, her voice gentle and tremulous. Marianne’s nervous, but she doesn’t want to accidentally give away something he doesn’t already know. “Is everything okay?”

“Marianne.” He sounds gruff, businesslike, and there’s a note of irritation under her name. “Where are you, at the moment?”

A chill rolls down her spine and anxiety stabs at her stomach. “Well, I...I was just preparing to return home.”

“I didn’t ask what you were doing, I asked where you were. _Where_ ,” he repeats, emphasizing the word, “are you?”

“I...I…” she stammers. Her father’s irritation is more plain now; she knows she’s been caught.

“Marianne,” he demands, stern, “this is not a difficult question. Tell me where you are.”

She weighs her options. On one hand, the fact that he’s calling her right now suggests that he found out she wasn’t being honest with him earlier. Marianne _hates_ lying. Not only is she not very good at it, but it’ll probably only get her in more trouble.

On the other hand…

She looks down at Hilda on her lap, the other woman waiting patiently and quietly for her to finish. Hilda’s face is calm, true, but there’s worry behind her eyes. What if she tells her father where she is, and who she’s with, and he forbids her from seeing Hilda again? That wouldn’t be unlike him.

“Marianne!” 

His voice startles her from her thoughts, and she makes her choice. It’s the one most likely to ensure she can keep seeing Hilda, and that’s all that matters to her, right now.

“I am...currently at a friend’s apartment,” she says, slowly, carefully. “I apologize for not being truthful with you earlier, Father. I didn’t want you to worry.”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end of the line. Marianne holds her breath anxiously, waiting for her father to reply; her heart beats it’s going to pound out of her chest.

“I see,” he says, finally. His voice is cool, contained, as though just a little bit of the anger is diffused. But only a little. “I was concerned that you had not informed me you were home yet, so I took the liberty of calling Miss Pinelli.”

She didn’t dare say anything, most certainly did not want to interrupt him, but just hearing Leonie’s name is nearly enough to break what little resolve she has.

“She told me that she was never informed that you were feeling unwell, and she did not provide you with a room. When she asked her fiance if he knew of any such thing, he did mention that you were seen leaving the ball early...”

Marianne swallows hard.

“...in the presence of a woman your own age, named Hilda. The same young woman who repaired your dress, if I remember correctly. All of this is true?”

“Yes, father,” Marianne replies in a low murmur, ashamed. She knows she shouldn’t be, but it’s not like her to lie, especially to her father, and she feels gut-wrenchingly horrible about it. “I...spent the evening at her apartment. I’m sorry.”

There’s another moment of tense silence before he speaks again. 

“I trust that you know I am very displeased, Marianne.” Her stomach sinks like a stone at the coldness in his words. She feels her eyes begin to water. This isn’t going how she hoped. Not at all. 

“Father, I-” she begins, but he continues speaking and cuts her off, his voice rising in anger.

“You met a young woman, attended a party with her, and allowed her to take you home for the night. I know you’re a _foolish_ girl, Marianne, but I am sure that even _you_ can understand the message that such an action sends!”

Marianne sniffles, and she can’t hold back anymore. She begins to cry. She _hates_ it when he’s upset, when he sounds so disappointed in her, so _ashamed_ of her. She can’t believe she’d thought better of herself, thought she might even be worthy of someone like Hilda, when she can’t even manage to be a _daughter_ properly. The tears spill down her cheeks, and she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath to try to even out her voice. It’ll only be worse for her if he can tell she’s crying; he’ll be mad at her for trying to garner sympathy.

She feels something brush lightly against the side of her face, making her flinch. Marianne opens her eyes and looks down.

Hilda has one arm up in the air, and her hand rests gently upon Marianne’s cheek. Her touch is gentle, but steady and firm, and although Hilda _looks_ almost as distressed as Marianne feels, the seamstress’s hand on her cheek helps her calm herself enough to speak. Marianne raises her own hand and places it over Hilda’s, and Hilda gives her a wan smile in response.

“Y-yes, Father,” Marianne says quietly, careful to keep her words steady despite her tears, and despite the storm of emotions within her. “I understand.”

Her father grunts in acknowledgement. “As I said before, we will discuss this over dinner. Go home, and, if possible, try to avoid sullying our family name any further between now and then.”

Without any further ado, he hangs up the phone.

Marianne sits quietly for a moment, trying to collect herself. The occasional choked sob still escapes her as she tries to breathe, but after a minute or so, she manages to get her emotions under control. Hilda’s hand does not, at any point, fall away from her face.

“I’m sorry, Hilda,” she says, eventually. She doesn’t look down, can’t meet the woman’s eyes, but she squeezes Hilda’s hand just a little bit tighter, as though she’s afraid it’ll run away. “I...I think I have to go home, now.”

Hilda doesn’t speak right away, and when Marianne musters the courage to look down at her, she sees that what she initially mistook for distress looks more like anger. Marianne goes still, petrified.

 _Oh no. I’ve made Hilda angry, too._

She doesn’t know if she can handle having both her father _and_ Hilda upset with her. Hilda, who has been so kind and gentle to her every minute since they met the day before, who took her hand and helped her feel safe and cared for at the ball, who-

“He shouldn’t talk to you like that,” Hilda says, her voice incredulous, as though she’s in shock. “How _dare_ he talk to you like that!”

It snaps Marianne out of her panicked downward spiral. “W-what?” she asks, confused. Is Hilda mad at her _father_? Why would she be mad at _him_? He’s not the one who keeps ruining things; Marianne is responsible for that. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what I said!” Hilda exclaims, even angrier now. She slips her hand out from beneath Marianne’s and sits up on the couch, turning to face her. “Marianne, look at me,” Hilda pleads. “He shouldn’t say things like that about you! You’re sweet, and lovely, and really nice, and-”

“Hilda!” Marianne says, looking up and meeting her eyes. She’s louder than she meant to be, and it’s enough to stop Hilda in her tracks, her mouth still open with no sound coming out. She closes it, looking for all the world like she’s just been slapped, and guilt makes Marianne’s eyes prickle with tears once more. “You shouldn’t say such things about him; you’ve known me for less than two days! How do you know I’m any of that? You just haven’t seen me ruin everything yet!”

She trembles under the weight of Hilda’s gaze, but she continues, more subdued now. “You’ve been very kind to me, but you don’t know me. He does. He always has, and he just wants to keep me safe.” 

As Marianne speaks, her father’s coldness suffuses her words. She knows it, but she can’t stop it. He’s always been right before, she sees no reason he shouldn’t be right now, too. 

But when Hilda replies, she speaks with a passion that burns away that coldness like a sliver of ice before a raging inferno. She gives a voice to the little part of Marianne that desperately wants to believe she’s better than she’s been told, despite never being allowed to hold onto that belief for long. And she does it in the most _Hilda_ way imaginable.

“Bullshit!”

Marianne blinks, clearing her eyes of tears. “I’m...sorry?”

“Marianne, that’s bullshit!” Hilda repeats, more insistently. “He’s not trying to protect you! That’s not the way someone acts when they care about you, that’s how someone acts when they want to control you! And make you feel bad about yourself!”

Despite the warmth that she feels when Hilda defends her, she can’t help but protest. “No, you don’t understand, I-”

Hilda interrupts her, though, pointing one finger sternly at Marianne’s nose. “Nope. No way. I didn’t let you do it in my shop, I didn’t let you do it in Lorenz’s nerd cave, and I’m not going to let you do it on my couch. I’m not a bad judge of character, Marianne; I know a good person when I see one. And right here, I see a good person trying very hard to parrot lies told to her by some crusty, shitty old man with a chip on his shoulder.”

“But...but I embarrassed him,” Marianne protests weakly.

“Who cares?” Hilda continues her tirade. “You’re his daughter; he should care more about you being happy than you making him look good. Did you have fun last night, when we came back here?”

“Y-yes, very much so,” Marianne says, blushing.

“And how about a little bit ago?”

She feels her blush deepen. “I had fun then, too.”

“Do you like hanging out with me?”

“A lot.”

Hilda punches the air triumphantly, as though Marianne’s answers have made her point for her. “Good! I like hanging out with you, too! You didn’t do anything _wrong_ , Marianne. Sometimes the choices we make are gonna piss off other people, but sometimes that’s okay, because you deserve to be happy.” She grins. “I should know, I piss off a _lot_ of people.”

Despite it all and through her tears, Marianne giggles, the sound somewhere between a normal giggle and a hiccup. She can imagine how Hilda’s personality might have that effect on someone. 

Hilda smiles wider when Marianne laughs, and she continues. “I like you a lot, Marianne, okay? And I don’t let people talk bad about people I like. Not even themselves.” 

“Okay, Hilda...I think I can handle that.” She pauses. “You...um...still like me? Even after all this? I know it’s a lot, and-”

“Oh, yeah, no question.” Hilda waves her hand dismissively, as though it was silly to even imagine any alternative, then looks thoughtfully at Marianne. Her expression becomes sincere, and warm, and welcoming, and Marianne believes her. “Hey, Marianne?” Hilda asks. “Is it okay if I hug you? I know some people don’t like to be touched when they’re upset.”

Marianne nods, and Hilda does just that. She pulls Marianne in, holding her close and tight. She squeezes a little extra hard, Marianne thinks, but she doesn’t really mind. Her embrace feels safe and cozy, a reprieve from a storm. It helps. 

Neither of them speaks as the minutes drag on. Hilda holds her as though she’s something precious that might slip away if she lets go, and Marianne lets her, and she can almost pretend that everything is okay. She closes her eyes, melting into Hilda, wholly trusting this strange, energetic, passionate woman, and feeling more loved than she has in ages.

“I still need to go home,” Marianne says, quietly, reluctantly disrupting the serene silence that’s settled around them. “I don’t want Father to be any angrier with me.”

Hilda sighs. “Yeah, I know. I’ll drive you. Are you going to be okay?”

“I think so, yes. I always have been. Father isn’t violent, he’s just...angry, sometimes.”

They pull apart, neither of them wanting to let go, but both recognizing the necessity. Hilda bites her lip pensively, looking at Marianne as though she’s thinking very hard about something.

“What’s wrong?” Marianne asks, concerned that she’s perhaps leaned a little too hard on Hilda today. She doesn’t want to make her worry, after all. Never that.

“Nothing!” Hilda says quickly, dismissively. “I just...wish I could be there with you, Marianne. I wish you didn’t have to go back and deal with him alone. It’s not fair.”

“Thank you, Hilda,” she says, giving the other woman a soft smile. “It means a lot that you care, but I’ll be fine.”

Hilda snaps her fingers, as though she’s finally figured out an answer to whatever’s been puzzling her. It startles Marianne, making her jump a little. “I’ve got it!” she exclaims. “Marianne, gimme your wrist.”

“Huh? O-okay!” Marianne is confused, but she does as Hilda asks, holding her right hand between them. 

Hilda reaches behind her back and unties the ribbon holding her hair up, causing it to fall loose behind her in a lovely pink waterfall. Her hand comes away holding the length of golden satin, and before Marianne can object, Hilda ties it onto her wrist in a prim little bow. 

“There. Now if you get upset, or angry, or scared, you just look at that bow, and remember that I’m there with you, at least a little, and I’m _definitely_ thinking about you, okay?”

Marianne looks between the Hilda and the bow, and swallows a lump in her throat. It helps. It helps a _lot._ “Thank you,” she finally says, her voice just above a whisper.

“C’mon.” Hilda leans in and presses a gentle, chaste kiss to Marianne’s lips. “Lets go get your stuff.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As before and always, thanks to @mamirato for doing the art that inspired this fic and its prequel, thanks to [tansybells](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/tansybells/pseuds/tansybells) for being a wonderful beta reader, and thanks to _you_ for reading! If you'd like to tell me how lovely I am, come find me at [@spiderlilywrite](https://twitter.com/spiderlilywrite) on twitter.


	8. A Brief Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having dropped Marianne off, Hilda decides to go give Leonie a piece of her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead and neither is this fic! Though I'd forgive you for thinking so.

After dropping Marianne off at a house that is, honestly, only a few sizes smaller than the one they were in the night before, Hilda lets her frustration out. Specifically, she takes her frustration out on the steering wheel of her small and very fashionable two-seater car.

She slaps at the wheel while she drives. She growls, swears, and generally says all the things that she didn’t say earlier, because she didn’t want to upset poor Marianne any more. But it feels good to let it all out, and if she doesn’t, she’s pretty sure she’s going to explode.

_Fuck_ Leonie for treating Marianne like that, last night. Hilda had nearly broken the woman’s nose, just on principle, but she had decided it would be more beneficial if she, like… _didn’t_ do that. Lorenz seemed like the kind of shitty dude who would probably sue for damages or something, and Leonie seemed like enough of a bitch that she would let him do it. Hilda’s happy she managed to cheer Marianne up of course, but the way they acted toward her was absolutely ludicrous, and she’s still reeling from it.

And that’s not even the only thing that’s got her pissed. No, the thing that galls Hilda more than anything else is the fact that she just dropped Marianne off to go face her asshole dad by herself. She wishes she could be there, wants with all her heart to be able to provide _some_ kind of support, but the only thing she’d been able to give Marianne was a hair ribbon and a promise of safety for later. It’s better than nothing, Hilda supposes, but it still annoys her that she can’t do anything more.

She’d immediately known what type of man Marianne’s dad was, back when he had first walked into her shop. Hilda knows _exactly_ that kind of asshole. It’s the kind of guy who has more money than sense, and more of both of those than any kind of social grace. He’s the kind of douche who gets used to throwing his cash all over the place to make people lick his boots, and it probably drives him crazy that his daughter wants to do anything other than sit politely under his thumb.

Of course, even if Marianne _could_ do that—even if she could be the perfect daughter, like, _objectively_ —Hilda’s pretty sure the old fart would find something to get mad at her for, because getting mad over nothing is what people like that do for fun. Marianne’s an adult. She’s a grown woman. And the idea that she should be so scared of spending some time with another adult, outside her home, well, that’s enough to make Hilda _fume_.

Like, seriously. Calling Marianne’s ex because he suspected Marianne might be exercising just a little too much autonomy? What a fucking low blow. Absolutely ridiculous.

And _really_ , that just turns Hilda’s anger back to its prior target, because she might not be able to do anything about Marianne’s dad, but she can absolutely do something about Leonie. She has to have known. There’s no way Leonie doesn’t know, if she dated Marianne, that Marianne’s dad is such a creep. The way they treated her at the party was bad enough, but to rat her out to her crusty old piece-of-shit dad? There’s no excuse for that.

So Hilda makes a U-turn of questionable legality and decides she’s going to go have a couple words with that little ginger rat.

—❦—

It takes Hilda about ten minutes to get back to Lorenz’s big, ugly house. She hopes that’s where Leonie still is, because she doesn’t really know where else she might find her, and her anger might be diffused enough to keep her from doing something impulsive and stupid by then. And that would simply not do. As she drives, images of Marianne, her face tear streaked, her voice shaky, propel her forward. Making a scene would have been bad for Marianne last night, true, but there’s nobody here to embarrass except Hilda, and Hilda doesn’t give a shit.

She arrives, parks as aggressively as possible, steps out of her car, kicks the trashcan at the end of the driveway, and storms up the long, stupid walk to the big, stupid mansion, her hands balled into fists. Hilda sets her face in the most loud, aggressive, do-not-fuck-with-me expression she can muster as she reaches the front door and pounds on it with enough force that she’s pretty sure she can hear something fall off the wall inside.

There’s no response, so Hilda pounds again.

“Leonie! I know you’re in there!” Hilda calls, her voice echoing in the open space of the front porch. She can hear the sounds of loud footfalls coming from inside, as though someone’s approaching quickly, and nods in grim satisfaction. That’s more like it.

Two latches on the other side of the door disengage and the door swings open a crack. Hilda shoves it wide and quickly puts her booted foot against the frame so it can’t be closed. She’s done a little home invading in her time, and knows how to make a solid entrance. “It’s about time, you fucking cowa—”

“Is Marianne okay?” Leonie asks, her voice heavy with concern. Hilda turns to see her standing near the door, though she seems to have stepped back to avoid it when Hilda forced her way in. The woman looks positively stricken, and between that and the tone of her words, Hilda deflates almost immediately. She sees Lorenz standing nearby, arms crossed, surprisingly unperturbed.

“What?” Hilda asks, looking between the two of them, all of a sudden feeling a little bit silly. “What do you mean, is she okay?”

Leonie scowls. “I mean, is she okay? Did you not hear me?”

It takes a moment for Hilda to recover from this utterly bizarre turn of events. “Yes, she’s okay. Mostly. No thanks to _you_ ,” she snaps, jabbing a finger in Leonie’s direction. “It wasn’t enough for you to make her cry last night after she was already nice enough to come to your _fucking_ engagement party, so you had to send her shithead _father_ after her? Are you psychotic?”

“Am _I_ psychotic?” Leonie demands, stepping forward. “I’m not the one shoving peoples’ doors down and breaking into their houses!”

“I came to kick your ass like I should have last night, you evil, nasty little—”

“Excuse me,” Lorenz cuts in. Hilda and Leonie both turn on him, and apparently the combined forces of their withering glares are enough to catch him off guard, because he takes an actual full step back, putting his hands up. “I think the key thing here is that Marianne is well. Can we please take a moment to just…discuss this? Like adults? Hilda, would you like some tea?”

There’s a moment so silent that Hilda swears she could probably hear a pin drop. She looks at Leonie, who looks like she really wants to say something, but is trying to restrain herself. Hilda takes a deep breath, herself, holds it, and lets it out. As much as she still wants to slug Leonie—and she _really_ wants to slug Leonie—she knows Marianne wouldn’t want that. Marianne wouldn’t want her to hurt anyone. Hell, Marianne would probably already be willing to sit down for tea. Hilda doesn’t know that she agrees…but isn’t she doing all this for Marianne, anyways?

Hilda lets her fists come unclenched and rolls her shoulders back, adjusting herself to look a little less…punchy. Leonie does the same.

“Put a lot of sugar in it,” Hilda grumbles.

Lorenz smiles at her in a way that she really wants to read as ‘smug’, but is probably actually just relieved, since he managed to diffuse a fight between his fiancée and some lunatic who just shoved her way into his foyer. He walks away, presumably to find an elevator to take him to wherever the kitchen is in this fucking _palace_ , and leaves Hilda and Leonie alone together.

For a moment, Hilda considers picking a fight while he’s gone, but she eventually thinks better of it. She can’t help _anyone_ if she’s stuck in jail. Leonie sighs, her shoulders sagging slightly as she looks Hilda up and down, appraisingly.

“Come on. We’ll go to the sitting room. Lorenz will expect us to be there; that’s probably where he’ll go with the tea,” Leonie says, sounding like she’s mostly calmed down now. Hilda supposes that as long as Leonie plays nice, so will she, even if the woman still totally deserves an ass-kicking. So she follows as the athlete leads her down the hall and into a room that looks like it’s dropped straight out of a period drama.

Several places to sit have been arranged artfully in the center of the room, which also sports a fireplace at one end and a couple of chairs that are clearly designated for fireside reading or smoking a pipe or something. Paintings on the walls stare down accusatively at Hilda, like they know she doesn’t belong in a house like this, and she tries not to make a face as she turns away from them and finds a chair. Leonie takes one side of a couch, catty-corner to Hilda, leaving room for Lorenz when he arrives.

The two of them sit in silence, the lack of conversation punctuated by the ticking of a clock somewhere nearby. Hilda scowls, just kind of on principle, and Leonie rolls her eyes, pulling her phone out and flipping through it while they wait for their tea. Hilda does the same, and her scowl softens when she sees she has a new text message.

_still alive, i promise. father hasn’t said anything yet, but he’s not happy. thank you for everything today <3_

And then, another.

_what are you doing with your newfound freetime?_

Hilda coughs, looking up at Leonie, who doesn’t return the gesture. She can’t exactly reply ‘sitting in your ex’s living room’, can she?

_Oh, nothin much!! Just gonna have some tea in a few mins. I’m a classy bitch like that. :3c_

That should be fine. It’s not like it’s a lie; she _is_ about to have some tea. And she _is_ a classy bitch like that. Speaking of both tea and bitches, Lorenz arrives moments later with a tray holding three steaming cups of the stuff, as well as a small bowl of sugar, presumably for Hilda. She chews on her lip, frustrated. She really, _really_ wants to hate the guy, but he seems like he’s mostly genuine, and he hasn’t actually done anything shitty like Leonie has. He mostly just seems kind of like…a doormat?

“I see you have managed to avoid killing each other in my absence,” he says, setting the tray down on a low table between them, and taking his own cup. Okay, maybe not _that_ much of a doormat. “Now, Hilda, can you tell us why you decided to come visit today?”

“Well, because—”

“ _Other_ than to beat up my fiancée?” he interjects, and Hilda frowns, considering it. What other reason is there? She’s mad at Leonie. She wanted to kick her ass. But there’s a _reason_ she wanted to kick her ass, and maybe they can start there. Hilda’s always been a better talker than fighter anyways.

“I came over here,” she says, not bothering to hide her annoyance, but also not raising her voice. “Because Marianne was already feeling pretty fucking fragile last night, and what Leonie said was enough to make her cry. I haven’t known Marianne for long, but I know she deserves better than what you did to her. So I wanted to know why.”

Leonie flushes, but it’s not out of anger. She’s seen Leonie angry, and this isn’t that. It’s _shame_. She can tell by the way the woman’s eyes start to water. But she doesn’t speak, so Hilda continues.

“I want to know why you had the nerve to treat that sweet girl like garbage last night, then rat her out to her dad today for getting away from you,” Hilda says, reaching down to spoon several scoops of sugar into her tea, then picking up the cup. “Because you two dated once, and she saw something in you. And this bozo—” she cocks her thumb at Lorenz, “—sees something in you now. So I know you’re not like…evil. Which makes me wonder what the fuck was up with all that.”

Lorenz frowns. “I do not appreciate being called a _bozo_ in my own home, Hilda,” he says, and she winces. Hilda hadn’t meant to say that bit out loud.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

He continues to frown at her, and she takes a sip of her tea as an excuse not to keep talking. It’s actually really good, and she hums appreciatively. “Okay, wow, nice job on the drinks.”

That seems to placate Lorenz a bit. He closes his eyes and sighs. “Thank you. And I accept your apology. As for the information that Miss Marianne’s father received today, I must confess, that was my mistake. I had not been informed of his…tendencies, beforehand, and I was the one who answered the phone.”

Oh. Hilda blinks. That changes things. If Lorenz didn’t know, well, can Hilda really hold that against him? And how _could_ he know? What reason would there be for Leonie to tell him about her ex’s family?

“Huh,” she says, but catches herself before she can apologize. “Well, that’s still not an excuse for what Leonie said last night!” Hilda says, completely ignoring Lorenz in favor of staring Leonie down. When she does, though, she can’t help but notice how Leonie doesn’t look angry or defensive anymore. She mostly just looks…tired.

Leonie takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and exhales. “Lorenz?” she asks, without turning to look at him. “Do you mind if I talk to Hilda in private for a few minutes? I’ll make sure she doesn’t break anything.”

It seems like Lorenz is hesitant to leave the two of them alone, but he apparently trusts his fiancée, because he nods once, curtly, rises, leans in, plants an easy kiss on her cheek, and exits the room without any further ado. Hilda’s kind of surprised, honestly, but she’s willing to roll with it. Once the door closes behind him, surprisingly, Leonie relaxes, letting out some tension that Hilda hadn’t even realized was there.

“Alright. Fine. You want the whole story?” Leonie asks, folding her arms and leaning back into the couch a little bit more. There’s something…withdrawn, about the gesture, that makes her seem almost like a different person. Smaller, somehow. It makes Hilda wonder how much of what she’s seen of Leonie so far has been an act for Lorenz’s sake.

“Are you actually gonna try to justify the bullshit you did last night?” Hilda asks, frowning.

Leonie looks upset, and refuses to meet Hilda’s eye. “No,” she says. “I…can’t justify that. That was pretty terrible. I’m not going to pretend I’m not an asshole for it.”

“So why bother with the sob story?” Hilda asks, taking another sip of her tea.

“So maybe I can make sure you don’t fuck up like I did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading, and thanks to my fabulous editor [tansybells](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/tansybells/pseuds/tansybells). If you would like to follow me on twitter, find me [@spiderlilywrite](https://twitter.com/spiderlilywrite).


End file.
